Fight or Flight: The 40th Hunger Games
by brahdley jims
Summary: We are all killers. We have no choice. In that arena, we are all equal in that we will all die. All except one, who will be as good as dead anyway.
1. The Reapings

**AN: This is the Reapings chapter. We've started, guys! :D So this is how it'll work. This chapter consists of the Reapings of Districts 1 - 6, from the POV of one tribute from each of those districts. The train rides will be from the POV of tributes from Districts 7 - 12. The chariot rides will be from the POV of the tributes from Districts 1 - 6 who didn't get a POV in this chapter. The training will be from the POV of the tributes from Districts 7 - 12 who didn't get a POV in the train rides. Then the interview chapter will be one long chapter with a short version of every single tribute's interview, from nobody's POV.**

***deep breath* Does that make sense? xD Anyway, that's how it'll work, so we only have 5 chapters before the actual Games. **

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><p><span>District One - Ember Maloff POV<span>

"Ember! Time to go!"

My older sister Alice's voice carries up the stairs. I ruffle my blonde hair and hurry downstairs to meet her and Adam.

"So, Alice dearest," I smirk, perching on the end of the banister. "Jealous that I'll be volunteering today and I'll be the one coming home with enough money to last me several lifetimes? Jealous that I'll be Mother's favourite again?"

Alice rolls her eyes, but Adam grins. "Stop being so cocky, Em, it'll get you nowhere."

I smile back sweetly. "It'll get me everywhere, just you wait and see. So, will you miss me, Alice?"

Alice sighs irritably, looking me up and down. "What on earth are you wearing, Ember?"

I glance down at my grey blouse and black shorts, failing to see anything wrong with it. At my blank expression, Alice tugs pointedly on the shorts.

"These! At least go and put a skirt on if you're not going to wear a dress. We are supposed to look smart you know, especially if you're volunteering or doing something stupid like that."

I ignore what she said about looking smart. "You think volunteering is stupid? You don't think I can win? Well, it's wonderful to see your confidence in me. Just because you were too scared –"

"I think you'll do brilliantly, Em," Adam cuts in, ever the peacemaker as he throws an arm around my shoulders. "It's about time District One had another victor."

Mother and Father collect us and we head off to the square. I join the seventeen-year-old girls and wait patiently as District One's escort, a very small, very thin, very sparkly woman who reminds me of a fairy greets the crowd in her soft voice. She talks as if she's putting a small child to sleep. She reads out the first name in the same peaceful tone.

"Ingrid Darter."

"I volunteer!" My voice is cool, confident, but loud. The human fairy turns to me, serenely surprised, and invites me up onto the stage.

"I'm Ember Maloff," I tell the audience clearly. I can see Mother, Father, and Adam grinning like Cheshire cats below me – only Alice isn't smiling. Well, she could at least act pleased for me, and not like a bitter sour puss.

I'm genuinely surprised when I find that the human fairy has no wings. The sunlight makes her sparkle so much it's rather painful to look at her. I'm half-expecting her to take flight at any moment.

Zircon Terric volunteers for some wimp called Riley Something-or-other. He comes up to the stage from the thirteen-year-old section, which is a bit scary because he already looks like he could crush me by catching me in a simple headlock. His arms are _massive. _Even the human fairy tries to discreetly step back as he announces his name in a booming voice far too loud for his age. When he shakes my hand, I can almost feel the bones in my hand snapping.

My parents are beside themselves with happiness. "We know you can win, sweetheart!" Mother exclaims, gripping me a slightly awkward hug. Affection isn't the most commonly seen thing in our family. "In a few weeks, we'll all be richer than our wildest dreams! Oh, we're so excited for you!"

Excited for me or excited at the prospect of their fortunes? I don't really care, because it's obvious I'm getting so much more attention than Alice, who's sulking at the back of the room. Jealous cow.

"Well done, baby sister!" Adam ruffles my hair and envelopes me in a one-armed hug. "Knock 'em dead!"

"Ooh, I plan to," I promise very seriously, and then we laugh at our own joke.

I approach Alice with my arms open. "Hug for good luck?" I smirk.

Surprisingly, she looks close to tears, but steps into my arms at Mother's raised eyebrows. "Please don't die," she hisses in my ear suddenly. "Don't trust the rest of the Careers. Grab what you can, and run. Don't do anything stupid, Ember."

Trust her to try and mother me. "No promises," I hiss sweetly back, before kissing her cheek and walking away. I don't even bother to give her one last smile, sarcastic or not, before the Peacekeepers escort them out.

I'll either die in the arena, or come back home filthy stinking rich. I know which one sounds more attractive.

District 2 – Aveira Malik POV

"I'm volunteering, Cade."

My brother just nods, as if he's been expecting me to say this. Of course he knew I would say this – being my twin, he knows me better than anyone. He was born six minutes before me, and looks exactly like me in male form – light blonde hair, fair skin, dark green eyes. And always that same smirk.

"You do that, Aveira," he says, tucking a strand of long hair behind my ear. "But don't say I didn't warn you."

"You haven't warned me," I point out, rolling my eyes as I slipped on my ballet flats.

"Well, I'm warning you now," Cade tells me. He glances quickly around, then grabs me in a tight hug – a rare show of affection. He lowers his voice to a hiss. "Don't volunteer, Aveira. You don't know what it's like in there. Please just promise me, you won't volunteer."

I rip myself out of his grip, outraged. "Don't you dare tell me what to do and what not to do, Cade. Do you want all the glory of being a victor to yourself? Is that it? I've been training for this my whole life, and now I'm finally ready. Prepare to mentor the victor of the 40th Hunger Games."

That's when Mother sweeps into the room, and we immediately plaster smiles on our faces.

"Are you both ready?" she asks briskly, surveying us with her critical eyes. We must look perfect – I know she and Father both expect me to volunteer. "Lovely, both of you. Let's go, or we'll be late."

Father is waiting by the door for us. As we leave, I smooth out my blue corseted dress and give my home one last glance, before hurrying after the others to the square.

A bouncy, plump man is District Two's escort this year. After the Mayor gives his long speech, the escort hops onto the stage – quite a feat, judging by the size of him – and beams at the crowd, who look eagerly back. Rollo Pinken is rather scary. He's painted himself bright yellow all over, skin, hair, lips, fingernails. It's like staring straight at the sun – if the sun wears lime green pinstripe trousers. He's ludicrously cheerful and happy as he greets the crowd.

He makes me sick.

As is tradition, Rollo Pinken dips his chubby yellow hand into the girls' ball first. Still with that stupid grin on his face, he plucks one out at long last and reads it out.

"Gem Temple –"

"I volunteer!" Gem's staring at me as if I'm mad, though there's gratefulness in there too. What she doesn't know is that I didn't really do it for her. Sure, she wouldn't even survive the bloodbath, but I want to be in these Games more than I want to save her.

Hanna and Dellia on my other side look as excited as my parents do, pushing me forwards onto the stage. I introduce myself, refusing to look at Cade or my parents or Rollo Pinken the cheerful idiot. I wait for the male tribute to be called as I look into the distance.

Titan Ashes is emotionless when his name his called and he steps up to the stage. He's taller than me as he shakes my hand, and I lock eyes with him, trying to wheedle any sort of emotion out of him that would be to my advantage. I achieve nothing – he only stares defiantly back. So that's how it is, is it?

In the Justice Building, my parents pounce on me.

"Oh, we're so proud of you, darling!" they gush, hugging me tightly. "Volunteering like that for Gem! It was so brave of you, so lovely of you!"

_And now go and kill twenty-three kids younger than you, _I add in my head, but I accept the kisses on my cheek because that's exactly what I'm going to do.

Noelle, my younger sister, sweeps forward to embrace and kiss me, though it's cold. "Well done," she says, locking eyes with me. There's no 'good luck' there. "Perhaps we'll have another victor in the family. Wouldn't that be wonderful?"

Only Rollo Pinken wouldn't notice that sarcasm.

Noelle is jealous. She always has been and always will be. She's never been as pretty as me or as important as Cade, and now that I'm about to win the Hunger Games she'll be stuck in our shadow for good.

I almost care. But not quite.

Cade is the one who hangs back. "I told you not to volunteer," he whispers, so that Mother and Father and Noelle won't hear him. "You don't know what you're letting yourself in for."

"Then try to do your job and keep me alive," I whisper back coldly. "Though really I think I'm better off without you if you're going to keep acting like this."

He has to leave then, so that my friends can see me, but I don't think I particularly want to see him later on.

Hanna, Dellia and Gem are more thrilled than my parents. Hanna and Dellia because it would boost their status even more to have a victor as a best friend, and Gem because I just saved her from certain death. She's pathetic, snivelling all over me, but I hug her and let her cry anyway.

Maybe she's the only one who will actually miss me.

We're bundled onto the train before I have a chance to pretend I'm upset, and then we're rolling out of the station, away from the safety of District Two.

I promise myself I'll see it again.

District 3 – Milton Rocksham POV

I've just finished getting dressed when my mother bustles into the room, carrying my faintly baffled little sister on her hip.

"Oh, Milton, take Mae for a minute, will you? I've got to find my shoes, and we're already running so late…" Not waiting for an answer, she holds Mae out to me. I stagger backwards at the unexpected weight.

"Alright… hey, little Poppy," I smile at the four-year-old, setting her down on my bed. She giggles at my pet name for her. "Ah, has Mummy only done one plait? Come on then, let me do your other one."

She sits very patiently as I braid back one half of her long blonde hair, making sure it matches up exactly to the other braid. Mum comes back into the room halfway through, and leans against the doorway watching us, a small smile on her face.

"What do you say, Mae?" she asks when I'm finished, picking my sister up as she skips over to her.

'Thank you Milton!" Mae choruses from memory, giving me a wide smile. She's got a few teeth missing, which makes it even cuter.

"Good girl," Mum praises, allowing her to go and collect her favourite doll, leaving us alone. She approaches me, and cups my face, kissing my forehead. "You look so smart today, Milton. How are you feeling, honey?"

I know why she's asking this. It's my first reaping. She's probably more nervous than me. "I'm fine, Mum. Are you?"

She nods quickly, blinking back tears. I suppose even the very slim chance that I might be reaped is upsetting to her. "We'll have a nice big dinner tonight to celebrate. Lamb chops – your favourite."

I perk up at this, grinning. Lamb chops are my favourite, but we hardly ever have them. They're so expensive, and rare in our district. "Sounds great, Mum." I notice Mae standing there behind Mum. "Come on then, Poppy, let's go!" I scoop her up in my arms, and we troop outside into the square.

District Three's escort has been our escort for as long as anyone can remember. Wilbur Hain is probably older than time itself – I mean, he looks positively ancient. I don't think he could develop any more wrinkles if he tried. When he first speaks, nobody can hear a thing he's saying. The mayor hurries up to him, shoves a loudspeaker in his hands, and shuffles away again. When Wilbur speaks again, I'm still not sure he can even hear himself.

"Th-thank you all for c-coming," he starts off shakily. I fidget uncomfortably. Well, it's not like we had a choice.

The mayor sort of prods him, indicating for him to get on with the Reapings. Thank you for that, Mr Mayor, we would have been here forever.

Ebanie Streeter is the first tribute picked. She appears from the fifteen-year-old section, looking absolutely terrified and on the verge of tears. Doesn't she know there are cameras watching her every move? Then again, if it was me…

It is me.

I'm too shocked to move at first. It's like my whole world's gone numb and time has completely stopped. Wilbur can't have said my name, could he? It was impossible. It was my first reaping. I hadn't even applied for the tesserae.

One name in thousands.

I slowly make my way up to the stage, not completely aware of what I'm doing. Then I hear a voice – "I volunteer!"

I whip round, seeing my best friend Ruben trying to fight his way past the crowd towards the stage, to pull me back. What on earth is he thinking? He can't volunteer, not for me! "No, Ruben!" I yell at him, trying to reach the stage before he does, and then my other friend Jasmine is there, grabbing hold of his flailing arms and dragging him back to where he's supposed to stand. I'm grateful to her, and to Ruben too for trying to do something to protect me, but I can't let him get hurt. The pain in Jasmine's eyes is already enough.

The though that I'll have seen them for the last time in one hour is unbearable.

I shake Ebanie Streeter's hand, which is trembling just as much as mine in. I grit my teeth and nod slightly at her. She smiles weakly back.

I don't want to kill her. I don't want to kill anyone.

In the Justice Building, Mum breaks down in my arms. Sobbing loudly on my shoulder, she wails about how much she loved me and how she wanted me to get home no matter what, with Mae perched awkwardly between us as I try to hug them both. We stand like that for ages, until Mum's crying finally subsides enough for us both to try and offer Mae an explanation.

"Listen, Poppy," I begin, trying to be careful with my words. "I've got to go away for a while. You've got to be really good for Mummy, alright? Do whatever she tells you, eat everything on your plate. You can be a good girl, can't you?" I tap her freckled nose gently and tickle her mouth with the end of her plaits, but she doesn't giggle like she usually does.

"Why you going, Milton?" she asks, blue eyes wide. "Why Mummy crying?"

"Because I might not be coming back, sweetheart," I tell her gently, which only sets Mum off again. "One day, Mummy will be able to tell you why I had to go away, but you've got to promise to remember me, OK? I love you, Poppy."

She still doesn't understand, but nods anyway, wrapping her tiny arms around my neck. "Lobe you too Milton." I chuckle a little at her pronunciation of 'love', squeeze her tightly one last time, and then Mae and Mum are gone. It's all I can do not to break down there and then.

Ruben and Jasmine visit me as well. They're both trying their hardest not to cry, but it's obvious they're struggling. We spend the time that we have together trying to make light of the situation, cracking jokes and teasing Ruben about his willingness to volunteer. It seems a bit morbid, but I think it's the only way we know to deal with this.

They're gone far too soon. I keep my head up for the cameras, because I won't let them see how torn apart I was in the Justice Building.

I'm probably in better shape than Ebanie Streeter.

District 4 – Mellish Reed POV

"So what do you say? My marbles for that sandwich."

The little boy standing in front of me eyes me warily, clutching his ham and cheese roll protectively. It's making my stomach growl at the sight of it. I haven't had anything to eat today.

"Let me see the marbles first," the boy insists. I sigh. Oh, of course he has to ask that question. Kids are so suspicious.

"Haven't got them with me right now, kid," I tell him regretfully, making a sheepish face. "How about tomorrow, eh? I'll come find you and give you my bag of marbles. They're green and blue, like the sea. One of a kind."

He still doesn't look sure. "My mummy said –"

"Mummy isn't here right now, is she?" I interrupt. "Hey, I'm sure Mummy wouldn't mind. Besides, she's just a girl – she wouldn't understand our little trade anyway. We boys have to stick together." I gently bump his shoulder with mine, crouching down at his level. I'm less scary that way.

He grins. "Mummy never understands anything. Alright then." He holds out the sandwich, and I swipe it out of his hand before he has a chance to change his mind. "I'll get the marbles tomorrow?"

"I promise. They're at home right now," I lie, ruffling his hair. "See you later, kid."

I take a satisfied bite of the sandwich as I walk casually away. It's just too easy these days. Of course I'm not going to give him anything in return for the sandwich, but it's his own fault he eats up lies like I'm eating up this sandwich. Every kid's the same, whether I'm conning them out of a bag of sweets, a couple of fish, or their week's pocket money.

"Mellish, where've you been?" my father demands as soon as I get into the house, wiping all evidence of the sandwich away with my sleeve. "It's nearly one, we should be there by now."

"Like you actually care if I'm Reaped or not," I mutter, but not quietly enough.

He gives a grunt. "I'm more worried about the Peacekeepers showing up at the door if we're not there. Get a move on."

I join the sixteen-year-old boys in the square and rock back and forth on my heels impatiently. This is such a waste of time – I just want to go home, or maybe get something else to eat. I'm still starving.

"Good afternoooooooon, District Four!" the excitable escort trills like she's trying to sing opera. "What an exciting daaaaaaaaaaay for us aaaaaaall!"

Why has she painted herself bright blue? She looks like a bloody Smurf.

"Now, without further ado, let's pick out our girliiiiie!" she sings, beaming at everyone like it's the best thing she's ever been asked to do in her whole life. "Melody Croooooss! Come on up here, Melody!"

Unfortunately, Melody Cross seems as enthusiastic about the whole thing as The Soprano Smurf does. She walks up to the stage with a massive grin on her face. Bloody hell. Are these the two people some poor sod's going to be around twenty-four-seven until they get to the arena? I pity them.

"Mellish Reeeeeeeeed!" Crap.

I grit my teeth, set my mouth in a thin line and walk calmly up to the stage. Melody and The Soprano Smurf are waiting for me, both still grinning like idiots. Really? Why the hell are they so happy?

I grudgingly shake hands with Melody. I swear, if she bounces up and down anymore she's going to shoot straight up into the sky and we'll never see her again. Not that that would be such a bad thing.

My father doesn't have a lot to say to me in the Justice Building. Of course, he's the only one who visits, and the only reason he comes is because it would be viewed as strange if a father didn't see his son off to certain death.

Not that I plan on dying.

"Do good," he says gruffly, awkwardly patting my shoulder. Well, I'm absolutely overwhelmed by that extravagant show of affection. I'm glad when he scarpers off to hide in his house like the grumpy old man he is.

But there's no one else to see me, and for the first time in my life, I actually feel lonely standing here in this blank, lifeless room. Then I remember something that makes me grin.

I'll have an excuse not to give that kid his marbles tomorrow now.

District 5 – Peridot Reska POV

"Peridot! Peri, where are you?"

I buckle up my sandals and pull my head up to call, "In here, Arie!"

My best friend skips into the room, auburn hair rippling and green eyes bright and sparkling. I resist the urge to sigh. Even when she's skipping around like a five-year-old, she looks beautiful. I wish more than anything I looked normal, like her.

But no. My parents made sure that would never be a possibility for me.

"Ooh, you look nice," Arie smiles, eyeing my lavender sundress. "Come on, Hal's waiting."

Hal is Arie's fraternal twin. The three of us have been best friends since childhood, and their father took me in when my parents ran away. He shares Arie's green eyes, but has dark hair, and is always smiling. Arie told me a while back he had a crush on me, which I was shocked at. Who'd fancy me, with the DNA mutations I have from being experimented on?

Remembering this, I self-consciously fiddle with the random teal streak in my white-blonde hair as we approach him, waiting at the door. That's not the weirdest thing the experiments did to me. My eyes now resemble rainbows, with different patches of colour everywhere. Yes, rainbows. My parents must have been desperate for money if they were willing to have their daughter made a freak show like this.

Oh, wait, no, they weren't desperate for money. They just didn't care. That's why they ran away from our district.

"Hey, Peridot. You look lovely," he grins as we leave the house. I blush. It's different when Hal compliments me – I mean, for one thing, it sets off butterflies in my stomach. Arie saying I look nice certainly doesn't have that effect.

I slip my arms through his and Arie's, and we set off for the square. Once there, Arie and I join the seventeen-year-old girls and Hal joins the boys.

"Hello, District Five," a tall woman barks, making half the crowd jump. She's this year's escort for our district; a rather scary, militaristic woman with a no-nonsense attitude. You get the feeling she would take the most extreme measures to keep her tributes alive. "Let's get on with it then, shall we?" She claps her hands together, and reaches for the girls' ball. Well, she doesn't mess around, does she? She's neither smiling nor frowning when she plucks the name out of the ball.

"Peridot Reska."

_What?_

Beside me, Arie gasps and grips my arm so tightly her nails are digging in. I think I can vaguely hear a male voice crying out my name in desperation. Begging someone to volunteer for me.

They don't.

I wrench free from Arie's grasp and make my way up to the stage in stony silence, trying to look nothing more than irritated. People are whispering, so it's hardly an act. The militaristic escort holds out her hand for me to shake.

Stuff her and her formalities.

I spit in her face.

A ripple of disbelieving gasps unsettles the crowd. The escort doesn't even flinch, but her eyes are burning and she's glaring at me with such an intensity that I don't think I want to do that again. Great, as if things weren't bad enough, my escort now hates my guts. That's the way to go, Peridot.

I determinedly don't look at anyone as the male tribute is picked. Gabriel Thorp takes his brother's place by volunteering – I know he's his brother because they share the same surname. Wait, why is he coming from the fifteen-year-old section? He looks about twelve.

Why on earth does he look so smug? He's just signed up to be killed, for God's sake. I hope he doesn't go all Career on me. His face drops slightly as he shakes my hand. Ah, so it's finally hit him. Not so clever now, are we? I have to give him credit though; he doesn't let it show at all.

Five minutes later, Hal and I are trying to revive an unconscious Arie in the Justice Building. She fainted as soon as she saw me. Wonderful, how can I say goodbye to her when she's dead to the world? When she finally wakes, she bursts into tears and launches herself into my arms, sobbing violently on my shoulder. Am I not the one who's supposed to be crying her eyes out? Nevertheless, I pat her back and soothe her and tell her I'll try my best to come back.

Over her shoulder, I can see that Hal knows I'm lying through my teeth.

His face is slightly twisted in a grimace, like he wants to start crying but he knows he can't. I'm so glad. I want someone, at least, to be stronger than me right now.

I fall into his arms without a word, while Arie is in the corner wiping her eyes and trying to pull herself together. He holds me tightly, stroking my hair.

"It's going to be alright, Peridot," he whispers. "Everything's going to turn out alright."

It's such an outright lie, but it's the best we can come up with.

The Peacekeepers whisk them away – the only two people in the world who will miss me, or bother to remember me – and I'm left alone, waiting to be picked up and piled onto a train that will take me far away from here and straight to my death.

District 6 – Darcy Nuostabus POV

"Ooh, he's not bad looking," Morgan praises a boy walking past, nodding approvingly. Sarah and Briana raise their eyebrows at her.

"He's about nineteen," Sarah points out.

"No – no, I see her point. His bum's nicer than most guys our age," Briana says appreciatively. "Ooh, look, here comes another one."

"Mmm… wouldn't mind me some of that," Morgan comments about the sixteen-year-old blonde boy who's walking over to his friends.

"Actually, yeah, he's quite cute…" Sarah admits, before her expression turns to one of horror. "Wait, that's my brother!"

The three of us burst out laughing. "Incest, darling, is technically illegal," Morgan says kindly, patting Sarah's head affectionately. "Although what you two get up to at home, we can only guess."

"Oh, you twisted cow!" Sarah huffs, face very red as Briana cackles her head off. I chuckle at my friends.

"Oi, Darcy, is Alex with anyone at the moment?" Morgan asks me, probably in what she thinks is a very casual tone of voice. I roll my eyes.

"Yes, he's still single and no, he still doesn't want to go out with you," I tell her, smiling slightly. She asks me this question at least once a week, about my brother Alexander.

"Oh, I wish the reapings would just start already," Briana complains irritably. We turn to her, wide-eyed, and so do most of the thirteen-year-olds in our section. She realises what she's said. "Oh, I don't mean that! I don't actually want anybody to be reaped! I was just saying…" She trails off, muttering to herself now.

"We understand, dear," I say, just as a cough from the stage catches everyone's attention. The Mayor has finally showed up, and is giving his usual speech. Briana and Morgan get bored almost straight away, while Sarah listens attentively as usual. I've no idea why.

Finally, he welcomes District Six's escort onto the stage. A very tall, very slim, very pretty blonde woman is looking around at us all with an uninterested expression, perfectly painted red lips pursed. It's clear she wants the Games over with as soon as possible so she can go back to hair-spraying her hair or whatever it is people like her do all day.

"Ladies first," she announces in her Capitol-affected accent. She delves her hand gracefully into the ball, rummages around for a while and picks one out easily. "Morgan Chimer."

My heart drops. This isn't real. This isn't happening. She didn't just say my best friend's name.

SMASH!

The loud noise right next to me makes my head snap sideways. Briana has just dropped the glass necklace she was fiddling with, and both her and Sarah are staring at Morgan with wide eyes. Morgan herself looks paralysed, like she wouldn't be able to move even if she wanted to.

Her feet don't have time to take more than a few steps forward before I'm lunging ahead of her, screaming, "I volunteer! I volunteer!"

"Darcy, no –" Morgan hisses, but I pretend not to hear her, shoving her to the side and beating her to the stage.

"And your name is?" the pretty blonde woman prompts, sounding as bored as ever.

"Darcy Nuostabus." I can see Morgan dropping her head into her hands out of the corner of my eye.

And then it hits me. What have I done? I don't regret saving Morgan, but what have I let myself in for?

_Idiot, Darcy, _I think. _Idiot._

I'm so caught up in my own thoughts that I only the catch the surname of the male tribute being called.

" – Nuostabus!"

There's only one other person eligible for the reaping with the surname 'Nuostabus'.

My brother makes his way up to the stage, and I can still see the shock in his eyes at me standing up there with him. He shakes my hand and squeezes, silently asking if I'm alright. I nod quickly. His mouth sets in a thin line, and he turns to glare at the crowd, who are gossiping freely. Well, honestly, they could wait until we were out of their sight.

Sarah, Briana and Morgan are hysterical in the Justice Building. Sarah is trying to give me one hundred tips on staying alive in the arena at a time, Briana is crying on my shoulder and Morgan is blaming herself over and over again for not stopping me volunteering. In the end, I have to sit them all down like they're misbehaving children, tell them very sternly I don't want any tears or advice I won't be able to follow or any guilt from them. Then I give them a smile – because I'm always the cheerful one, and I want to keep that up, don't I? – and pull them into a massive group hug. That nearly sets me off there and then.

Mum and Dad can't believe I volunteered like that. Mum is shouting at me, telling me off for signing myself up to be killed, and Dad looks incredibly disappointed. _Disappointed? _They're about to lose a daughter and probably a son as well, shouldn't they be comforting me?

In the end, they come to their senses and engulf me in hugs and tears. I wonder vaguely if Alex received the same send off I have.

I doubt it.

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><p><strong>AN: Please review, and tell me how I did in the first chapter. Please tell me if I didn't write your character quite right - it's hard to write 24 different personalities, but I'm trying my best and I want to do you and your tributes justice. Oh yeah, and there's also 5 sponsor points for reviewing. :P<strong>


	2. The Train Rides

**AN: This would have been updated quicker, but I was ill and also preparing for an audition, which wasn't very fun... I'm glad I got such a positive response for the first chapter! I've taken comments into account, don't worry. Just a note: if you've got a question, I'd really prefer to answer it through PM and not in my chapters. Some people don't have accounts, which makes that impossible, but never mind! Here are the train rides, enjoy. x**

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><p><span>District <span> 7 – Alondra Abella POV

"Are you good at hand to hand combat?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Are you good at running?"

"No, ma'am."

"Are you good with weapons?"

"Just axes and knives, ma'am."

My escort, Lucinda Berry, and I have been speaking like this for the past ten minutes. Eventually, Lucinda sets down the clipboard she's been scribbling notes on and smiles at me. "You're very polite, you know, Alondra."

I'm puzzled by this. So?

"Erm… yes?" I say uncertainly, phrasing it as a question. Lucinda laughs lightly. Everything she does seems to be light. Even her voice is light and barely carries to my ears.

"Of course, that could be the perfect interview angle for you… polite, sweet, charming… but then again, rather boring…"

What on earth is she wittering on to herself about?

Lucinda glances up at me through her glasses and dark, straight hair. "Politeness and being nice will get you nowhere, Alondra," she tells me, her voice harder now. "I don't believe you're as lovely as you make out to be, either."

"I'm sorry?" Well, who wouldn't be outraged by that? Lucinda had basically just implied that I was a bitch in the nicest possible way.

"You must know some people who put you down. People who say harsh things… people who hurt you…" Her grey eyes bore into my brown ones.

Of course I have people who hurt me. Doesn't everybody? I suppose I do have it worse than most people, though. Given that I'm blind in my left eye and my mother is a well-known slut, I'm often the target for bullies.

Not to say that my mother is bad at raising me. Yes, she flirts with anything that breathes, and no, she doesn't know who my father is because she got around so much when she became pregnant with me, but she's tried her hardest to make a better life for me. Well, I'm sixteen and I'm not pregnant yet, so she must be doing something right.

She was terrified when I volunteered. A twelve-year-old girl called Ayana Larrus had just been reaped, and I couldn't bear to see her walk up to that stage. She was tiny and so thin – she wouldn't stand a chance. I'm good with kids, I like them, unlike Isabella who can't understand why I play with them and entertain them, or 'waste' my time with them. I don't really know why, myself – maybe it's because children don't judge you. I protect them from the bullies, too, the same bullies who make my life hell. I can deal with their words – I've learnt not to let them hurt me too much, although sometimes the poison still finds its way into my mind – but I can't just stand by and watch as they act in the same cruel, wounding way to children much younger than me. Who deserves that at seven years old? That's when I lash out. It surprises them how unkind and nasty I can be, but they asked for it at the end of the day.

"Yes," I say slowly. "There are. But I don't see what that has to do with my strategy for the Games."

"I'm just trying to get a feel of who you are. You're not giving me very much, Alondra." Whoever decided Lucinda Berry was a good mentor needs to have their mental health checked. Why won't she just give me a strategy, an interview angle, anything?

"We'll meet again tomorrow," she decides, clearly dismissing me. Frowning – because we hardly achieved anything in the end – I leave the car, stomach growling. It hasn't been very long since dinner, but I'm hungry again already.

I meet Katriel Keen on my hunt for food, down near the end of the train.

"Hey, Katriel," I greet him. "You just finished with your mentor?"

He nods. Katriel is shy and soft-spoken, even quieter than I am. Despite that, he's friendly and sweet, and I can't believe nobody at home was willing to volunteer and take his place. "I think Lector's given up on me already."

Lector Thenne, Katriel's mentor. He took no interest whatsoever in Katriel at dinner – he was drinking a lot, however, so maybe he didn't even know he was supposed to mentoring somebody.

"You've just got to show him what you're good at, that's all. Then he'll start to help you," I say kindly, and he smiles back. "Oh, do you know where they keep the food on this thing? … Katriel?"

But he's wandering away, lost in his own world. I stifle a giggle at that. He's done this a few times on the train so far; spaced out when Lucinda started talking to him at dinner, gotten distracted by his own thoughts when he was supposed to be paying attention to the reapings. I suppose his own imagination is more welcoming than the reality we're living in at the moment. And watching all those kids walk calmly, or numbly, or shakily to their death on the little TV screen makes me realise that I can't blame him.

The thing is, Katriel knows exactly what horrors await him – us – when we reach the Capitol, and eventually the arena. Just like me, he watches those reapings and wonders who will be the one to kill him. One of the Careers? Most likely. The wisp of a boy from District 3? Unlikely. The strange-looking girl from 5? Possibly. And when you start to think about that, well, that's when the whole situation is thrown into painfully sharp focus. That's when everything because horribly real, and any denial you might have been residing peacefully in is ripped cruelly away from you.

I wish I had somewhere to escape to right now like Katriel Keen does.

District 8 – Lupine Yarok

Dinner on the train is an interesting affair.

My district partner, some bloke called Tristan Thorin, is possibly one of the most hyperactive people I have ever met. Our escort, who largely resembles a zebra with her stripy clothes and stripy wig and stripy skin, gets fed up with him halfway through dinner, telling him that if he can't sit still or stop cracking stupid jokes then she will throw him out the window of the speeding train and he will die before he even gets to the Capitol.

Harsh.

Only Tristan would actually be encouraged by that sentence. And do you know what he says? Grinning widely, he announces, "I think we're going to get on like a house on fire, Kalinda!" and plants a big kiss on her cheek.

Well, now that I've met a lunatic my life is complete.

I'm pretty sure it must have taken all her strength and more not to stab him with her steak knife there and then, but I have to commend Kalinda Gartrey for keeping her cool. However, she does look like more like a dragon than a zebra now. Her nostrils are flared and if she was breathing any harder, smoke would be coming out of them. She glares at me with such intensity that I stop sniggering straight away.

I tried to hide them behind my hand, I honestly did.

Our mentors have also joined us for dinner, of course. There's Suede Andrews, Tristan's mentor, who has his head ducked and his shoulders shaking, and I'd love to see Kalinda tell him off for laughing. And then there's Camilla Dyer, my mentor, who I think must sympathise with Kalinda much more as she's looking down at Tristan disapprovingly.

Well, I'm so happy that Tristan gets a decent mentor while I get a no-nonsense victor who's looking over her shoulder more than she's looking at me.

The meal comes in three courses, and by the end I'm feeling a bit sick. I've never eaten so much in one go before. I glance up and Tristan's staring at me; it nearly makes me jump out of my skin. Realising he's been caught, he grins and I can't help but smile back. It's strange, but you always feel as if you want to smile around this boy whether you're planning his death in a week's time or not.

"So, how are we all finding the food?" Kalinda asks brightly, blatantly ignoring Tristan as she addresses me.

"Oh, it's lovely," I reply, and I'm not lying – it is lovely, but I also want to vomit all over Kalinda's stripy shoes right now.

"Yep, your Capitol's got one thing right!" Tristan says cheerfully, scooping up some rice and sauce with his fingers and shoving it into his mouth. I snort with laughter at Kalinda's grimace.

"Please excuse Tristan," I say apologetically to her, "but I think you'll have to give up all hope on him. There's no saving his table manners after the horrors they've been through."

Kalinda's lips thin as Tristan chuckles, a deep, pleasant sound all the way down in his chest. "True, my fellow tribute whom I'm about to kill, very true," he says, slumping his shoulders dejectedly.

I think that's all Kalinda can take, because she dismisses us very quickly after that.

After dinner, we all go into a separate car to watch the reapings from the other districts. There are similar reactions in all the districts, although a few tributes stick in my mind. A very tall, athletic boy from District 2 who got distracted by a squirrel on his way up to the stage. A handsome girl from District 9. A boy with impressively colourful language from District 12.

The reapings bring back memories of my own reaping just hours ago, an event I'd really prefer not to remember if possible. The crying, the shouting, the swearing, the words of encouragement flooding me from left, right and centre. Kyte, my twin, was the most heartbreaking. I felt more helpless than he did when my name was called out, and he simply stood and watched while the rest of my family fussed over me. I didn't take in a single word any of them said, however. Unable to take my eyes off Kyte, I fell into his arms as soon as I was free and remained there for the rest of the hour. When the Peacekeepers came to take everyone away, they literally had to prise me off him. We were shouting desperately as they dragged Kyte away, reaching towards each other as the Peacekeepers restrained me, until –

SLAM.

The door closed with a sense of finality. I heard nothing except my own feeble whimpers of his name. I had never needed protecting before – growing up trying to prove yourself around five brothers makes you tough – but now I needed Kyte more than ever.

And he was gone just like that.

"Lupine?" Tristan's voice brings me back to the present, and I jump. Kalinda, Suede and Camilla are all getting up and filing out of the car. I shoot Tristan a smile. He looks so concerned that I can't help it.

"Just spaced out for a moment there," I shrug, standing up myself and stretching my legs. "Oh, and call me Lu."

"Alright, Lu. And you can call me…" He pretends to think, tapping his chin. "Tristan the Almighty Warrior and Protector of… erm, things."

I let loose a peal of laughter before I can stop myself. Why does he have to make me laugh all the time? More than anything else in the world, I do not want to start thinking of Tristan Thorin as a friend, because in that arena we'll be fighting to the death. I don't know if I could kill him if I grew to like him. And where would that leave me? If I started getting sentimental about killing Tristan, would I start getting sentimental about other tributes I might ally with? That would leave me vulnerable.

And vulnerable was not a word in my dictionary.

District 9 – Birch Laurel POV

So many tributes' faces whizz past us. It hurts to watch the ones who cry.

We're watching the reruns of the other districts. Starting at District 1, with a boy who isn't older than thirteen, twenty-four teenagers and a few twelve-year-olds step up when their name is called. It surprises me how many young tributes there are this year, and they only make it worse. Three twelve-year-olds, three thirteen-year-olds and one fourteen-year-old. Doesn't the Capitol audience feel a thing when they watch those tributes in particular walk to their fate? I know it's eating me up inside, and I've been watching this for years, but those seven who've hardly had a chance to live – no other year has been like this.

They're not ready. But then again, none of us are, not even the Careers. You aren't supposed to train for the Games, but everybody knows the kids from Districts 1, 2 and 4 do. And sure, that gives them an advantage, but do they honestly see these Games as a good opportunity? A way to win honour and fame, even if it means killing kids younger than you?

Again, I look at the younger tributes who don't stand a chance, and I feel myself start to well up for them. In my head, I make a list of them, and also the weaker-looking tributes, even though I know my mentor is probably picking out a completely different list of possible allies. But the younger and weaker ones appeal to me much more than the brutish, more skilled tributes. My guess is that they'll have brains to make up for the lack of brawn, and I value that much higher than being able to knock someone out with your fists.

Although that could be useful too, I suppose.

While the reapings are rolling on, I catch myself picking out tributes who actually stand a chance of winning. From District 10 there's a bulky boy – Braeden? – who looks strong and cool-headed as he approaches the stage. District 6 offers a boy who looks like he wouldn't know emotion if it punched him in the face – but then again, his sister is also reaped with him, and while unusual. that won't play to his advantages if he's got someone to look after. There's a girl from 4 who looks crazy enough to win it – she's actually smiling when her name gets called. Then it's the turn of District 9, and I realise I'm grinning and waving like a fool. What on earth possessed me to do that? Oh, yes, I remember – I've already written myself off as a contender.

"So, what do you think?" our escort asks, clapping his hands together and turning to us with a grin. Well, I'm glad he's finding this whole thing so enjoyable. Maybe it's the escort's job to keep upbeat, because our mentors are a bit depressing. Well, Quinn Jameson isn't so depressing. She's Hamlet Simmons' mentor, my district partner. It's just my mentor who's a bit of a killjoy. A fat, middle-aged bloke called Ignatius Sprite who won one of the first games when he was eighteen. Most of the time he's in his room snoring his head off, and even now when he's bothered to show up, all he's doing is staring at the blank television screen drooling. I'm starting to think he might have fallen asleep with his eyes open. But he's beginning to worry me. Is this the only person I'll have to guide me? Wonderful. Really, really, wonderful.

It's a good thing I can take care of myself.

Our escort, a very excitable young man with curly hair – this must be his first time as an escort, because he's been fumbling around with the schedule a lot – is called Samuel Berden. He's friendly enough, but once he starts chatting to you, you can't really escape. His enthusiasm is encouraging, though.

Quinn Jameson, who won the Games four years ago, nudges Hamlet Simmons and resists a sigh. I catch her eye and hide a smile. She won the games by being brave and heroic, and as Hamlet has been staring into space with a dreamy look on his face for most of the reapings we've been watching, I don't think they're going to hit it off right away.

Speaking of my district partner, I don't quite know what to think of Hamlet yet. He's fifteen, only two years younger than me, but he seems very innocent and naïve for his age. While he comes out with the most random things and is quite happy to ramble on about the weirdest topics he can think of, he also seems really thoughtful. I already know Quinn thinks he's crazy, and Samuel's been keeping his distance, but once you get past the… bright rainbow jacket and trousers made of leaves, he seems really nice. Eccentric, yes, but you have to wonder what goes on in that head of his. I wonder if he even knows what he's doing here? I mean, I wasn't really watching him when it actually happened but when we watched our own reapings, Hamlet sort of floated up to the stage like he was in his own world. He might as well have been walking down the garden path.

Just in case, I add him to my growing list of possible allies.

"I think it's a tough competition," I offer Samuel, because it's clear Hamlet doesn't have anything to say.

"That it is, that it is…" Samuel muses. "But don't be put off by all the massive tributes who come forward! Brains over brawn, I say!"

My thoughts exactly, Samuel. At least someone's on the same wavelength as me.

Quinn then launches into a full lecture on who to watch out for and who to keep an eye on in training, and whose mentors she's going to be working with to get us to ally together with the right people and tactics for the Games and interview angles.

I try to pay attention for Quinn's sake, but eventually I drown her out and lose myself in my own thoughts. Watching the replays of my own reaping has dragged my mind back to my dad and my twin brother, Ash. The main feeling when I said goodbye to them was anger. Hot, raw anger. In that sense I'm very different to both of them – while they were shouting and cursing and crying (manly) tears, I handled it the way I handle everything. Calmly, good-naturedly. I probably get this from my mother who died when I was small, because Dad and Ash are so much more hot-headed than me. I was supporting them more than I was supporting me, as I usually did, until Dad finally pulled himself together enough to pull me into a hug so tight it was like he was never going to let go.

"You do your best," he told me urgently, stroking my hair. "Your mother'll be proud whatever you do. And for God's sake, try and look after yourself. No selfless acts that'll get you into trouble. Look after number one."

"I will, Dad," I promised, but it was an uncharacteristic lie and he knew it.

Ash was still furious when he left. He calmed down long enough to kiss the top of my head, let me clean up his tears a bit like a mother would do. Had I always been like a mother to people around me? Now I look back on it that was how it seemed. And that, much to my surprise, is what scares me.

Mothering people gets you nowhere in these Games.

District 10 – Lusinderra Barette POV

"Aren't you supposed to be mentoring me?"

I'm facing my so-called mentor, Calite Portmanteau, in one of the cars of the train. I'm still a bit shaken from how fast this thing moves – I nearly fell flat on my arse when it took off without warning.

"Aren't you supposed to be mentoring me?" Calite mimicks in a high-pitched voice. Seeing my scowl, he chuckles. "Do me a favour and mentor my beer intake. Pass me another bottle."

"Er – of course." I reach over and pull an ice-cold bottle out of the mini drinks fridge. It's his third since dinner, but I'm hardly about to say no.

After taking a swig, Calite leans forward and swings the bottle between his hands. "Alright, girlie, here's what we'll do. You'll team up with the Careers, get into their circle, and stay with them for the entirety of the Games. Pretend to be weak, they'll leave you alone that way. Then when you're down to the last Career or two, stab them in their sleep."

He doesn't even miss a beat as he offers this plan. Huh, maybe he is going to help me after all. Then again, being a former Career himself, he's likely to suggest this anyway.

"Erm, I don't think I can – " I start, but Calite interrupts.

"Ah, you can charm your way in, pretty little face like yours!" he insists.

"O – OK, then. I suppose I'll try. I mean, if that's what you think…"

You can imagine my confusion when he bursts out laughing, shaking his head.

"What are we going to do with you?" he wheezes out, and upon seeing my furrowed brow, laughs even harder. "You just can't say no to anything, can you? Did you think I was serious? You wouldn't last two seconds with the Careers!"

Right, I accept that everyone has different senses of humour, but this is just stupid. Really, what's so funny?

"Just because you can't be bothered to come up with proper plans," I snap.

Calite raises his head and chortles at my expression. "Ooh, she does have a temper hidden in there somewhere!" Chugging more gulps of alcohol down, he leans back on the seat again. "Go and get me a bag of crisps."

I stand up to go find him some crisps, saying as much as, "OK, but after I get back I want –" before he interrupts, _again _with the wheezing laughter.

What am I, a clown or a tribute being sent to her death? I'm really not sure at the moment.

"You – you are entertaining, girlie!" Calite tells me, jabbing a finger at me. "If I told you to jump of a cliff, you'd probably do it – and with a smile on your face, too!" If the image of me jumping off a cliff is what's making him laugh even harder, then I'm seriously going to consider asking to switch mentors.

"Fine, be like that," I sigh, crossing to the door and roughly pulling it open. I'm about to storm out – well, more like stomp out with a childish look on my face – when Calite's voice stops me. And he actually sounds serious for once.

"You want some advice on surviving? Learn to stand up for yourself and get a mind of your own, girlie." Then I hear the sound of beer being sloshed back, and take that as my cue to leave.

Who does he think he is? I do have a mind of my own! I just like helping people and nobody can blame me if I actually think it's respectful to do something for somebody else. I am in no way gullible and I won't be gullible in these Games.

And I'm especially not taking any more tips from Calite Portmanteau.

On my way to my car, I meet Braeden Koi in the corridor. He, at least, is one person I can get along with. In a way, he reminds me of my best friend Handler back home – I suppose it's because they look so similar. Blue eyes, muscles from hours spent working on the farm, blonde hair – although Braeden's is more of a gingery-blonde. Attitude wise, on the other hand, they're completely different. While Handler is funny and athletic and carefree, Braeden is more reliable, honest and hard-working. Not to say that he's boring – the cheek he gave our mentor, Malcolm Dire, at dinner was almost unbelievable, but Malcolm took it well and it lightened the previously tense mood. Braeden also seems a lot more mature than Handler. I think that must be what having six younger siblings does to you; I know that much about my district partner.

Now I can't help but think of Handler. Of his pained face in the Justice Building, of the locket he gave me to replace my mother's meaningless necklace… I hope he can move on if I die. He will, I know he will, because Handler knows I'd want him to get on with his own life and stop dwelling on the loss of mine. We've been best friends for years. We know each other better than we know ourselves, and he's the only reason I'd ever dare to break my parent's rigorous rules for.

My parents. _They _wouldn't move on if I died. When I was reaped, they couldn't stop going on about how there must be a mistake and, oh, the yelling inside that Justice Building. I love my parents, but they need to learn to calm down about some things that can't be prevented. All my life I've lived by their expectations, never daring to say no to any request. They're uptight and unbelievably strict, but aren't they just teaching me to follow orders and be respectful? Sometimes, my mind strays across rebelling, like Samell did…

But I don't want to think about Samell right now.

"Calite giving you grief in there?" Braeden asks as we try to squeeze past each other. I'm pressed right against him in the narrow corridor and my face turns red as I slither out of the position. "He didn't seem like the nicest mentor to have."

"Oh, you've no idea," I groan, not even joking either. "I think it's safe to say I'm screwed."

"Not screwed, not yet," Braeden says. "I mean, there's going to be some tributes less able than you… maybe one…"

"Oh, thanks," I huff sarcastically, playfully punching his arm. He rubs it, pretending to look wounded and making me laugh. See, I've never acted like this around anyone except Handler. I wonder exactly why I'm doing it now. "What about you? How did your session go? I'm guessing you did a bit more than just handing your mentor bottles of beer every ten minutes." Braeden's mentor is Dr Barra Ryers, and to me he seemed a lot more promising than Calite.

He chuckles. "It was alright. Barra wants to train my mind, or something like that. Apparently he won his Games by outsmarting his opponents, and I think he's hoping I'll take the same route, but I'm not so sure. Books and using my brain were never really my thing."

"Ah, so you're the muscles rather than the brains?" I ask.

"Yeah, and you're the Lady Muscles."

I nearly choke on my laughter. _Lady Muscles? _If this gets out, I'm going to be known by the Capitol audience before I even step on that chariot.

"What? You look pretty strong for a girl," he defends himself. I only shake my head and get the last of my giggles out of my system. Pretending to look wounded, he tuts and says, "Well, I know where I'm not wanted – or appreciated. I'll see you in the morning, Lusa."

"Yeah… night, Braeden." I watch him walk down the corridor, still smiling to myself.

Calite's parting words don't hold a candle to the conversation I just had with Braeden Koi.

District 11 – Laurath Cavernson POV

It's hard work trying to swallow the last few slivers of pork, and I'm well aware that I'm going slightly green as I force it down. Catching my district partner, Ruse Carnegie's eye, it's easy to tell he's also feeling a bit queasy. Neither of us has ever had food this rich before, or so much food in one sitting. I'm only continuing because I'm a little scared it's all going to disappear into thin air, all this wonderful food, if I don't savour it all. I think the only reason Ruse is carrying on with it is because he doesn't want to offend the pretty brunette woman who is our escort – the amount of flirting that's been going on between them is sickening. She's from the Capitol! You'd think Ruse would have at least a bit of pride.

"So, how have we all been?" Ava Boundry, my escort, asks us all. Is she joking? Then I realise she's probably just trying to create conversation between all of us, not just between Ruse and the escort whose name I haven't yet bothered to learn.

Nevertheless, I give her my most winning smile and exclaim, "Best I've ever been. This is the happiest day of my life, Ava! Being sent to my death and all. I've waited so long for this moment!"

Unsurprisingly, she ignores me.

"Yes, isn't this exciting?" the brunette escort says, dragging her eyes from Ruse long enough to rub her hands together eagerly. It's like she's waiting for the next delicious meal to be brought in – which, ironically, it is as soon as she says the words, "I can't wait!"

I wait until the Avox who brought the next course in leaves to say, "I'm peeing myself with excitement, Escort Lady."

Ava throws me a stern glance that clearly says, "Remember. Your. Manners!"

So far, we've established that in this car, one person has no pride, one person has no tact, one person has little to no experience with handling tributes and one person doesn't have manners.

We're all doomed.

Escort Lady looks uncomfortable, so Ruse steps in. "The food is amazing, by the way. You must have very talented chefs in the Capitol."

"My brother invented this dish, actually," she beams proudly, brightening immediately at Ruse's compliment. Ruse sends me a wink, to which I reply with a scowl.

Glancing down at the dish in front of me, I discover scallops dyed lime green with something that looks like a fancy version of scrambled eggs on the side. I hope we don't come across Escort Lady's brother in the Capitol.

"May I be excused?" I ask as politely as I can. Ava smiles at me approvingly and nods, and I'm quick to escape the car into the much cooler corridor.

I find myself running towards the end of the train, to where I know there's an empty car made entirely of glass, enabling me to watch the scenery rushing by, too fast to make anything out. When I get there, I curl up on the floor, my skinny body all but vanishing into the corner of the room. Leaning my forehead against the class, I watch the trees blur together and the grey clouds overhead come together ominously. Sure enough, a few minutes later the first drops of rain begin to pound against the glass, thrumming and echoing through my head. I close my eyes, soothed by the rhythm.

The reaping seemed so long ago now. I twist my token, a gold anklet, around in my fingers. It was beginning to rub and cause a red mark on my ankle. I wonder what Saffron, my twin sister, is doing right now. Washing up after dinner, perhaps, helping our adopted dad with the chores around the house now there's one less person to do her fair share? I volunteered for her hours ago. Saffron is the complete opposite of me – people actually like her. She's perky and excitable and lovely and a social butterfly. In other words, she wouldn't have survived the bloodbath in the Hunger Games. That's why I can't see her mourning for too long over me, if I were to die. She's far too cheerful to sink into depression – she's much more likely to get on with life and grieve on her own where nobody can see her. That's Saffron, right there. She deserves to live more than I do, even if I can't stand her attitude most of the time.

"Laurath?"

I jump at the sound of my own name. My head snapping up, I'm relieved and a bit annoyed to see it's only Ruse.

"What're you doing in here?" he asks, coming to sit beside me. I sigh. No getting rid of him now.

"Thinking," I reply, running a hand through my reddish-brown curly hair.

"Ah… I see. You know, I really need to start doing that," he says.

"Doing what?"

"Thinking."

"Funny," I reply dryly. "Although, it would be a first."

He grins. "You crack me up, Laurath, you really do! Anyway, Ava sent me to –"

"Why were you flirting with her? Escort Lady?" I ask suddenly.

"Escort Lady? You mean Penelope?"

I nod. "Yeah. Her. I didn't bother to learn her name, whereas you…"

"Well, she's hot. Might as well make the best of a bad situation, right?" Ruse ruffles my hair, and I duck out of his way. "You'll understand when you're my age, kid."

"Don't count on it," I say, rolling my eyes, "Ava sent you to what?"

"Oh. Yeah, we're supposed to be going to watch the other reapings now." He stands up and offers his hand to me.

I raise an eyebrow at his hand. "Not a chance in hell," I tell him bluntly, and stand up perfectly fine on my own.

Ruse takes a step back. "Whoa, since when were thirteen-year-olds so freakishly tall?" he teases.

"I'm not freakishly tall, you're just short," I sniff, and stalk out of the car, leaving a chortling Ruse Carnegie behind me.

District 12 – Jebadiah D'Ouvoir POV

"You look like a squirrel."

I always knew I made good first impressions.

I turn to glare at Lennox Harper, the girl who just gave me this comment. We're sitting alone in a car, having been abandoned by our mentor and escort for reasons unknown to us.

"Yeah, so I've been told. And?" I prompt, daring her to continue.

"You're crippled." What's wrong with her?

"Don't call me that," I hiss between clenched teeth, anger roaring in my chest. My crutches lie on the seat beside me, in the open for all eyes to see. It makes me ashamed to know I have to use those know, and it's so hard having to use them twenty-four-seven as well. Does this girl have to point out the obvious so bluntly?

She smirks. "Oh, I wasn't insulting you. Just… making an observation." Her green eyes pierce into mine, as if she's trying to read my mind. Uncomfortable, I let my gaze wander elsewhere so as to avoid hers. Huh, Lennox has short red hair, like me. Why did I not notice that before?

Oh, yes, it's because I was just selected to compete in the Hunger Games in my first ever reaping, and I don't stand a chance because my legs are partially paralysed. That distracts some people.

It was my mother who caused me to lose full function of my legs. She's a drug addict and an alcoholic – since my father walked out on us when I was four, that's how she's been spending our money. Like we didn't have enough for food and clothes and medicine in the first place. So drunk and so high, Mum became abusive and violent fairly quickly, though I'm better at knowing when it's safe to go home now – except when I was seven, I was caught out far too often, still too young to understand what was going on with my mother. One night, in a fit of furious, drunken rage, she threw my frail seven-year-old body down the stairs and I've not been able to use my legs properly since. That made me see who my mum really was. A selfish, cruel woman who wouldn't even pay for the wheelchair I needed, who wouldn't admit I _was_ a cripple, and most sickeningly of all, who wouldn't admit that it was all her fault.

That was how I'd grown up. And so as I listen to Lennox Harper bluntly call me a cripple now, and put up with her analysing me to find other things to criticise, I'm aware of my dislike for this girl growing, because she's no different from the rest.

"You're good with your fists."

What is this, Guess-Everything-There-Is-To-Know-About-Jay Day?

"How do you know that?" I ask her, surprised more than anything as I fiddle with the token my best friend Clem gave me in the Justice Building. It's a clumsily sewn armband with my name on it, and Clem said she was going to give it to me for my birthday. At least she didn't cry during the goodbyes – my mother didn't even turn up.

Lennox shrugs. "It's obvious, really. You can't use your legs very well, so you must have grown to use your arms and fists to your advantage instead. And I'll bet you know when to make a run for it. People with disabilities are picked on whether it's right or not."

OK, so she's clever. I'll give her that.

"Great, so you've figured me out already and know what to use against me. And we're only a few hours into the train ride," I sigh.

Lennox frowns. "I'm sorry for calling you crippled just now," she says. "It just slipped out."

I nod, but I'm still not sure I like her. It's taken her about a minute to figure out two of the strengths I hold most dear to me – how long before all the other tributes find out what I can do? I'm already at a disadvantage, and apparently that makes me easier to predict.

Just then, the car door slides open, saving me from Lennox, who's probably worked out my whole life story in the few moments it took me to nod. My face falls again when I see who's stepping through the door. Fisher Garnet, mine and Lennox's joint mentor.

District 12 has only ever had one victor. Fisher Garnet is in his 30s now, and while he seems to favour Lennox, it's clear he's already written me off as dead.

Granted, I can see why, but could he not at least give me a fighting chance?

"Flavius wants us all down in his car to watch the rest of the reapings, Lennox… and Jebadiah," he adds hastily, just a second too slowly.

"It's Jay," I correct, looking him straight in the eye. "As I've told you four times already."

"Right. Sorry." Fisher throws me an awkwardly apologetic smile, then turns back to Lennox. "I've been thinking about strategies for you, and I reckon – "

I've had enough.

"Hello? Yeah, I am here, you know," I point out, raising my eyebrows expectantly at him when he turns round. "Seems you're coincidentally leaving me out of everything so far. Would you like to repeat what you just said, and say it to both of us?"

Fisher is looking at me a bit nervously. Good.

"I'm sorry, Jeba – Jay, but you and Lennox would have the same strategies, except you're…" He gestures vaguely in my direction. Well, that could mean anything.

"Crippled. Go on, say it. I'm crippled. Does that mean I need to be treated as a special case? Does that mean you need to automatically give up on me because I'm hopeless? Have you even bothered to as me what my strengths are?" I'm full on glaring at him now, daring him to say the wrong thing.

"Well – no, I just…" Fisher trails off, unsure of what to say.

"Assumed I was useless," I retort helpfully. "Well, maybe I will die in the bloodbath, maybe I won't be able to defend myself against a pack of Careers, maybe nobody will want to ally with me and I won't last two days on my own. But everyone else has their weaknesses. And just because mine happens to be pretty obvious doesn't mean I'm useless!" My voice has risen to a shout now, and Lennox is staring at me with wide eyes.

Fisher gulps. "Er – er, well, how about we start all over again?" he suggests weakly. Honestly, this guy became a victor? How? "I think we might not have made the best first impressions on each other." He holds his hand out. "Hello, Jay. I'm Fisher Garnet, District 12's only victor so far, and I'll be your mentor in the games." Fisher looks at me hopefully.

Smiling, I reach out to shake his hand. "That's better."


	3. The Chariot Rides

**AN: These were fun to write. I love writing all the different tributes' POVs on the other tributes. ;) Thank you all for reviewing - please continue to do so!**

**And I wrote about... half... of the first chapter of the Games - the bloodbath - in my head on the way to school yesterday and today. Yeah, so I've already killed a few of you off :L and am beginning to put together alliances. I just need to write them all down now.**

* * *

><p><span>District 1 - Zircon Terric POV<span>

"Ooh, you're much cleaner than the District 12 lot we had last year!" one member of my prep team trills.

"I know, such a lovely change!" another member sighs happily.

I just smile at them, even as they yank another clump of my hair out. Apparently, my brown hair is much too shaggy for District 1, but everything else about me is 'simply fabulous!'. There's no privacy in this room, but then again, I didn't really expect any. I'm quite happy to just sit here and let them fawn over me, because I've already met my stylist and I'd like to prolong another meeting with that vulture for as long as possible.

"You and your district partner will go well together. Ooh, and you've got lovely eyes, did you know?" the third member, a short, plump woman, says happily.

"No, I've never been told," I shrug pleasantly, and they almost faint from the horror of it. "But thank you. I do love the tattoos around your eyes, they really bring out the gold in them."

The plump woman blushes and brushes it off, saying, "Oh, it's just the latest fashion, dear, you know… but do you really think so? Oh, that's so sweet of you… isn't that sweet of him?"

The others are eager to agree with her, setting off a fresh round of compliments about my politeness and my loveliness. I smile, pretending to be embarrassed which only makes them love me more.

I can't bring myself to dislike my prep team. It actually seems almost cruel to think badly of them, since they adore me so much. And they're incredibly friendly and talkative, even if their conversations tend to revolve around themselves or me, without actually involving me – talking to themselves about me, I suppose you could say. They're very quick to agree with each other, and when one is daring and ventures an opinion of their own, the other two almost fall over themselves to concur with her. They say 'yes, yes, yes!' so much it's monotonous, like clucking.

They remind me of chickens.

I let them dress me without making a complaint, chatting about this and that. Keeping up a steady stream of conversation seems to make them happy; it makes me happy, as well, come to think of it. They joke about having to tie Balthier, my stylist, up and locking him in a room to get this outfit through. Apparently, I was originally going to be dressed in a puffy white blouse, brown waistcoat, black tailcoat, black top hat and black trousers, along with well polished black shoes. Why? Well, Balthier is… old fashioned. He also hates his prep team, though they seem to be oblivious to this because they go on suggesting crazy ideas and winding him up anyway.

"Oh, you look gorgeous! Doesn't he look gorgeous, girls?" the plump woman beams.

There's a chorus of, "Oh yes, he does! Look at you! So gorgeous!"

It's only when Balthier comes in to inspect me that I'm allowed to look in the mirror. While he circles me and tuts disapprovingly, his beady eyes critical and finding fault in every single thing, I'm admiring myself in the mirror. Not that I'm vain, but my clucking prep team really have outdone themselves. Usually, District 1 are dressed up in something sparkly and expensive, but this year they've taken the outfits a step further. My black suit is littered with thousands of tiny, tiny gems, like stars, which give off a radiant light, casting shadows on my face and the room around me. I shine so much I'm almost blinding.

"You've done amazingly on this," I praise my prep team, who are so full of gratitude at my compliment it's quite amusing. Balthier, on the other hand, obviously doesn't share their enthusiasm.

"We kept your idea of the suit," the plump woman says nervously, as if trying to console him. "But doesn't this look better? I heard rumours about District 3, and Zircon really needed something to –"

"It's fine," Balthier snaps, making all three of them jump, and hobbles out of the room. I frown. Well, that wasn't very vulture-like. Anticlimax much? I almost expected him to sprout wings.

"He'll get over himself," I smile reassuringly, and they breathe out a simultaneous sigh of relief.

I'm herded down to the Remake Centre, where Balthier is nowhere in sight – probably sulking in his lair and plotting his prep team's demise – and Ember Maloff, my district partner, is waiting. She's dressed in a black, floor length gown, which clings to her body so much she has to shuffle forward in her high heels so as not to trip. She shines almost as much as me, the pattern identical to my suit. She looks me up and down, and sniffs.

"Why do we look _exactly the same?_" she whines.

"Because that's sort of the point of being district partners," I tell her helpfully.

Scowling, she flicks her blonde hair back and stalks off to complain to her stylist, who has sneaked off. Clever person. After a lot more moaning, she gives up and slumps moodily into the chariot. I roll my eyes at the District 2 boy, who has been watching us, and he grins back.

Someone, presumably a member of Ember's prep team, darts up to us and tries to force us to hold hands. Ember, however, is clearly not happy being told what to do and actually looks offended, glaring at the man with such intensity he gives a squeak and scuttles off.

"You could try and be a bit nicer to them, you know," I say, and her burning stare switches to me, raising a perfect eyebrow.

"Yes, because being lovely and smiley and friendly is the way to win the bloodthirsty and brutal Hunger Games," Ember scoffs. Was that aimed at me? Apparently so, because she follows it up with, "What are _you_ going to do? Grin at people until they get so creeped out they drop down dead?"

I shrug. "Something along those lines," I reply, pretending to think seriously about it, keeping the smile that annoys her so much on my face. Ember throws me a strange look and returns her attention to practising her pout and her wave.

We don't speak for the rest of the day – but I think I've found Ember Maloff's weakness.

District 2 – Titan Ashes POV

Acada Danforth, my stylist, is currently prowling around me like a predator. It's a bit creepy and awkward, given that it's pretty obvious he's gay and I'm standing in the middle of the room naked.

"Nice muscles… tall, athletic… ooh, smouldering dark eyes, they'll work perfectly… oh, wow, look at that!"

Do I want to know where he's looking?

I'm glad to pull my robe back on before Acada has a chance to get too close. He leads me into another room, where lunch is waiting for us. I don't feel very comfortable sitting there eating while Acada is ogling me, though, so I take a few bites then leave the food alone.

"Guess what we're going to be dressing you and the lovely Aveira up as today, darling?" he asks excitedly, like it's something new and fresh and unique.

"Rocks?" I guess tiredly. For as long as I can remember, our tributes have always been rocks. Extravagant rocks, mind you, but District 2 equals stone quarries and Peacekeepers. And I don't think the Peacekeeper uniform would go down too well with anyone.

"Nope, not any more, darling!" he beams, and I'm pleasantly surprised. Well, this is a change. Have our stylists this year finally taken into account District 2's weapon manufacturing?

Amazingly, they have.

Within half an hour, I'm dressed similarly to a medieval knight. Chainmail and plates of polished silver armour have been draped over my body and the sturdy helmet has been adjusted so my whole face is visible, but the rest of my head is covered. Axes, daggers and swords, all of varying sizes, hang from my leather belt on display and I'm to hold a massive mace the whole way around the chariot ride. At the last minute, Acada ties a red cape around me for no other reason apart from it brings a "burst of colour, darling!"

If he says so.

While I'm slowly being crushed and suffocated under the weight of this outfit, my prep team fusses about my makeup. Merelda, a lady with light pink skin, is insisting that I should be kept as natural as possible, while Kerjal, a man who is also gay and keeps checking me out, reckons I should have scars and blood painted all over my face and be made to look wild and ravaged and almost unrecognisable. Hernice, on the other hand, is musing about having a sword sticking out of my head. I should be scared, but this is a woman who has diamonds embedded into her skin.

Eventually, they come to a compromise and give me a few 'manly' scars while keeping the rest of my face natural, only highlighting here and there to bring out my dark eyes (Hernice's suggestion is completely ignored). Acada seems to be satisfied with this, and I'm rushed to the elevator where Aveira Malik, my district partner, is waiting.

She's dressed like a female version of me, with the same ridiculous amount of weapons. They really are flaunting our industry this year, despite how heavy it all this. I mean, I'm practically dying here.

"You look perfect," Aveira tells me. "We'll look great together. This will be good for me – us – in the Games."

Well, that's a good start. As we're loaded onto our chariots and I try to make conversation, however, she completely ignores me and obsessively starts ruffling her long blonde hair. Ah, I see. After one exchange, I'm now beneath her. Well, two can play at that game. I blatantly ignore whatever she does and any attempts to get us to "warm up, darlings!" to each other, and Aveira's busy fussing over herself and doing the same.

And that's how we wait. Blatantly ignoring each other like we are blatantly better than the other and blatantly consider each other beneath us.

So when Acada rushes up to us and blatantly makes us join hands because he's fed up of us blatantly ignoring each other, Aveira rolls her eyes but goes along with it. It's no surprise she snatches her hand back as soon as Acada disappears.

I take the opportunity to scout out the other tributes. We're the only ones ready – everybody else is bustling around, shouting to each other, adding last minute touches. District 4 hasn't even arrived yet; at least, there are no telltale signs of shells or seaweed anywhere. I'm sure I remember them being late last year as well when I watched the chariot rides on television. They must have the same prep team again.

All the way at the back of the line, I can see nothing of the District 12 tributes except a thick cloud of smoke. What have they done, tried to burn them? District 11 is looking a little alarmed and leaning as far away as they can without leaving their chariot.

In front of us, District 1's tributes are fussing about their outfits. As usual. Well, only the female tribute – Amber Matchoff? – is. The boy is clearly happy to go along with what he's been given, and looks a bit weary as he listens to his district partner rant on.

"I told you, I wanted to stand out! District 3 look better than us and they're not the ones who produce luxury goods!" she whines to her stylist.

"They can dress you up as a rock, if you want," the District 1 boy says dryly, smiling slightly.

"I – what?" That comment has gone completely over her head. I stifle a chuckle.

"You know, a rock. The earth. Where they mine diamonds from," he informs her, still smiling.

"I don't want to be a rock!" she wails. "I'll just stick with this, then." She mounts the chariot sullenly, glittering in her silver dress adorned with jewels – I've no idea what she's complaining about, really – and slumps in the corner. The boy catches my gaze and rolls his eyes. I grin back.

"Right, come on, we're ready to start!" Acada hurries up to us, looking horrified. "What happened to the holding hands? _I told you to hold hands! _Now smile, Titan. Show some emotion. You look like a robot, and that's District 3's job. See, Aveira's got it down!"

Obediently, we link hands and smile. Then District 1 is rolling out into the streets, pulled by their immaculate snow white horses, and all too soon it's our turn and I'm linked to Aveira for the whole bloody chariot ride.

I wonder vaguely if District 12 has managed to clear up all that smoke yet.

District 3 – Ebanie Streeter POV

"Oh… oh, bloody hell… do you – do you really think I'm going to be able to move around in this – thing?"

I look up at my prep team helplessly. I've spent the last five minutes trying to stand up in the extravagant robot costume my stylist has designed for me, but so far, things aren't really going to plan.

"Oh dear… well, come on, we'll help you up," Pearl, my favourite person on the prep team, offers. She and Indigo, a man whose hair is true to his name, grab my arms and yank me violently up off my seat, while Jaline grabs my waist to steady me so I don't topple over and face-plant onto the plush red carpet. That really would be a disaster, with the makeup I've got plastered on my face.

"There we go!" Pearl exclaims, beaming at me. "All ready to go! The only downside is you won't be able to sit down for another three hours until we've stripped you down!" And she goes off cackling, probably to fetch some more hair gel 'just to make sure'.

If I had to sum my prep team up in one phrase, it would definitely be 'just to make sure'. I can't count the number of times they've applied an extra layer of silver lipstick 'just to make sure', or stiffened the awkward frame of my costume 'just to make sure', or checked the similarity of my district partner's costume 'just to make sure'. Now Pearl's gone to get hair gel for the spikes in my usually curly red hair, which has been dyed white and now sticks up all over my head, 'just to make sure' not a single strand of hair floats out of place.

"You know, I wish we could have kept your hair exactly as it was," Indigo sighs, carefully prodding one of the spikes. It's probably sharp enough to poke his eye out if he's not careful. "I do love your hair. Do you want to swap hair?"

Did I not mention how strange Indigo is? Well, there you have it. Then again, this is the Capitol, and people probably do swap hair. Frequently.

"Much as I love your hair, I'd prefer to keep my own," I tell him kindly. "And you've asked me that seventeen times already, Indigo."

Jaline laughs from her place beside me where she's sprinkling glitter on my nails. She doesn't talk much, but she's probably the most experienced out of the three of them and I do like her.

"I'm back!" Pearl sings, waltzing into the room with a full bottle of hair gel, which I can guarantee will be empty within the next five minutes, the entire contents spilled over my head.

"I'm going to drown in all this hair gel," I comment, as she squirts it everywhere and it drips into my eyes. She chuckles.

"No pain, no game!" she reminds me, before proceeding to rub it all in.

_No pain, no game. _And suddenly I'm reminded of why we're doing this. The Games. The pain. All the terror I felt at the reaping comes flooding back to me, the images of what I'll never do again and who I'll never see again hitting me like a ton of bricks. I know my parents don't think I'll make it back, but they put on a brave face, for me. Which is lucky, since bravery was at the bottom of my list of priorities. Looking back on it, I should have hidden my emotions better as the cameras feasted on me, walking up to the stage. But no, I let the tears fall freely down my face without even knowing they were there until it was too late. And now I'll be known as the weak one. The one to pick off right away. They won't even expect me to survive the bloodbath.

'There we go, sweetie!" Pearl grins, giving my costume one last harsh tug. "Off you go! Your chariot awaits!"

The prep team shepherd me down to the bottom level of the Remake Centre, where my stylist, Atner Farrow, is waiting. He gives me the once over and nods his approval. "You look wonderful, Ebanie," he praises, smiling at me. "No one will forget you in that outfit."

Forget me? No, they certainly won't. As my district partner Milton Rocksham, ambles over to us, I see we're pretty much identical apart from Milton looks a bit more masculine in his silver top and trousers, while I've been given a silver dress. The outfits are stiff – the frame is made from metal, which we've been squeezed and moulded into, and sticks out at odd angles which means our arms are sticking right out, but we can still move them to wave to the crowds. The metallic silver costumes have been decorated with colourful glowing gems that look like buttons, and Milton's hair has also been sprayed white and gelled into spikes. Our makeup is similar too – a completely white face, silver lips that make it hard to move our mouths at all, silver eyeshadow and highlighting here and there. In the dim light of the Remake Centre, we stand out so much that everyone except District 1, who are practically sparkling, is staring at us enviously. We'll be dazzling in the sun.

After adjusting a few bits and pieces to his liking, Atner and Milton's stylist, Sparkle – it must have been her who convinced Atner to give us our 'shine', so to speak – help us onto the chariots. They position us so we're not too uncomfortable, but so we still look stiff and robotic.

"Ugh," I complain to Milton as about eight people fuss around us, "my face itches in this white powder."

"So does mine," Milton agrees. "We look unforgettable, though, don't we?"

"That's the only good point. What will we be known as, then? Rusty and Microslut?" I pick at the tight, revealing dress plastered on my silver-painted body. Milton bursts out laughing.

"Rusty and Microslut, killing everybody with their awesome robot moves," he says.

"Ooh, we should dance! Hey, if the robot does the robot, is it still called the robot or is it just dancing?" I ask.

Milton stares at me. I'm not surprised; it was a rather random question. Then he grins and says, "It's called 'The Way It Should Be Done'. Imagine if the cameras zoomed in on us during the Games and all the Capitol saw was us dancing."

"That really would bring in the sponsors," I laugh.

"Right, we're off!" Sparkle whispers excitedly as the doors swing open and District 1 ride out into the streets. "Good luck! Don't move!"

I don't think we'd be able to if we tried our very hardest, but I don't tell her that, and just smile at her before she's gone.

"Ready?" Milton asks, because District 2 have just gone and we're next.

"Bring it on," I half-laugh, and when our horses set off, I'm not nervous at all.

District 4 – Melody Cross POV

"_OW! _Crap! For the sake of – _shiiiii - sugar!"_

The language coming out of my mouth has been a lot more colourful than that in the last ten minutes as my prep team rip the last of the hair from my legs. They got me all kitted out in my chariot costume, took me out to meet my district partner, and then suddenly decided that my legs had miraculously become hairy again overnight. Which was a problem, as the hem of the sea green dress I was wearing, designed to look like ferocious waves lapping over my pale skin, started at my mid-thigh and slanted down until it reached the ground, meaning my 'hairy' legs were on show for all. As we were running late already, my hysterical prep team had no choice but to wax me again right there at the elevator.

With Mellish Reed, his stylist, and his prep team all there watching.

It really didn't help that Mellish was there. He'd been smirking the whole time, probably enjoying listening to me in unbearable pain. So far, he has done nothing to convince me to like him whatsoever. Well, that's his problem, because he's going to find that I am a very useful and worthwhile ally to –

"ARGHHHH!"

"I'm so sorry, dearie! Just one more, I promise!" one of the members of my prep team says frantically. I grit my teeth so as not to spew insults at her. I hadn't even been prepared for that one!

I manage not to utter a whimper as she rips the last of my leg hair off. Mellish snorts into the back of his hand, and that's when I realise I must look constipated with the effort it's taking to keep my face unreadable.

"What the hell have you lot been doing?" My mentor, who just so happens to be my brother Matthew on top of that, is jogging down the corridor towards us, staring at us in disbelief. "District 3 set off three minutes ago! Hurry up!"

Everyone's expressions turn to ones of horror. We take off, not bothering to wait for the elevator as we sprint down several flights of stairs and hurtle into the Remake Centre. Matthew practically shoves us into the chariot and slaps our dappled grey horses' rumps to get them going. Glancing behind, I catch a glimpse of District 5 glaring at us, and avert my gaze very quickly.

"Thank God for that," I sigh, slumping against the back of the chariot seat, out of breath. Mellish pulls me up sharply again, and I'm about to swear at him madly when I see why. The crowds are already in sight, and cheering for us. I plaster a winning smile on my face and start waving before we've even turned the corner.

In the distance – well, now I can see why Matthew was so hysterical, District 3 have got more than their fair share of air time because of our lateness – I notice a soft glow coming from District 3's chariot. What in the world have their stylists done to them? It's only when they turn the corner and ride directly into the sun that the metallic silver covering every single inch of their bodies catches the light and almost blinds me.

"Are they _robots?_" I ask in disbelief, impressed and envious at the same time. Usually it's only District 1 who stand out so much, as their district produces luxury goods and so they're always adorned with sparkling jewels. Finally, I have to settle on admiration, and wonder why nobody has thought of robots for District 3 – who produce electronic goods – before.

"Makes sense, unless they've just been painted silver for no apparent reason," Mellish says sarcastically. Is he rolling his eyes at me? Well, fine. Be that way.

"I was only asking," I huff. "I couldn't see properly from here."

"That's because we're so far behind. And who was it that made us late again? Ah yes, you. With your… hairy problem." I blush, because I can hear the snigger in his voice.

"That had nothing to do with me; it was simply my prep team being obsessive," I tell him truthfully.

"It was enough of a problem that it made us this late. Now District 3 really has stolen the show. And I really don't like being shown up." Mellish isn't looking at me – he's staring straight ahead at the crowd – but is that the beginning of a threat I can hear in his voice?

I'm trying not to get worked up, because throwing my district partner over the side of the chariot and letting District 5's horses trample all over him probably wouldn't be the best way to win the crowd's favour. "As I said before, not my fault. Now shut up and smile." And smile he does. It looks a bit strange on his cold, hard features, but at least he's not being all surly and unapproachable like he was on the train.

After ten minutes of not speaking, I realise that District Twelve must have rolled out by now. We're nearing the end of our journey now, coming up to the City Circle where the other three chariots are waiting. As the other chariots fill up the circle outside the President's mansion, I see Mellish and I aren't the only ones practically ignoring each other. Behind me, the District 5 tributes are sat as far away from each other as it's actually possible to be without falling out of the chariot. Actually, looking at their outfits, I don't blame them for being uncomfortable. The siblings from District 6 probably can't talk to each other, either – I briefly think of sitting next to my late sister, Arimethia, in this chariot and trying to make conversation, and find myself choked up. The tributes from Districts 1 and 2 are acting all high and mighty, like their partners don't even exist, and everyone else looks a bit nervous. In fact, the only pairs of tributes talking comfortably to one another quietly are District 3's robots and the boy and girl from 10.

When Twelve's horses have come to a halt, President Snow begins his speech from the balcony of his mansion and everyone's attention turns to him. As he drones on, I can't help but tune out and take in the rest of the tributes I haven't had a chance to analyse yet. This is the first time we've had a chance to actually stop and look at each other, when we aren't being rushed around by stylists or watching a couple of minutes on a TV screen.

And all I can think is that even District 3 are going to have to do a lot better than flashy costumes to beat this lot.

District 5 – Gabriel Thorp

You have to wonder whether they've given you the right stylist and not a psychopath escaped from the local mental hospital when said 'stylist' sticks a pair of antlers on your head and orders you to crawl around on the floor pretending to eat grass.

"_Why?_" I demand. I'll take the antlers, but that's where I draw the line.

"Because you're a black stag, stupid boy!" she barks, and there's a snatch of the strict, militaristic woman I first met a few hours ago. "So be a black stag!"

I get the feeling that Drakon has never been disobeyed before. I wonder how many people have been bullied into jumping off a building because she's told them their spirit animal is an eagle.

"I'm not sitting down on the ground and pretending to eat grass," I tell her bluntly.

Drakon glares at me. "You won't be sitting, you'll be _roaming,_" she emphasises, "and you'll be doing it now!"

My prep team shoot me sympathetic looks as I seek out help from them. They could be a little less scared of Drakon and try to step in, but no, just leave the tribute to suffer at Drakon's crazy hands.

"There's no point in doing it," I protest. "We could be down there now, getting ready to –"

"Fine!" she snaps. "But you'd better get used to being an animal, because you're going to be the one with a leash around your neck!"

Is that a threat or is she serious?

Unfortunately, it's the latter. Because when I follow Drakon to the elevator, my prep team trotting nervously behind me, I see that there's a vicious black lead dangling from my district partner's hand.

Oh, God.

Peridot Reska catches my eye and grimaces. I have to agree with her on this one. She's probably just as thrilled to be holding a leash around my neck as I am to have that thing on me. Which is to say, not very much.

Peridot is dressed… strangely. The tight, double-helix themed dress she's wearing is no doubt also supposed to double as a lab outfit. Her prep team have caked her face in make up, adorned her with gigantic glasses and scooped her hair into some sort of wild bun. There's no doubt she's playing the role of the sexy scientist, and my breeder/creator/owner, whatever you want to call her.

Because I'm the muttation.

To be fair, I do look exactly like a black stag – whether they really exist or are part of Drakon's imagination, I don't know – and I have respect for Drakon's skills, even if she is a little crazy. A furry, ebony toga-style thing has been draped over me, hanging over only one shoulder so that part of the scars on my chest are visible. The scars that spell out 'freak', a hideous gift from my brother. The scars that all of Panem will soon know about.

They've painted my body with bloody wounds and black paint, to emphasise the 'wild' part of the look, and given me a tribal quality with the bead and feather necklaces hanging from my neck, my ankles, and my wrists. I've been given black leather boots to wear, which are tattered and worn, and they've kept the make up on my face relatively simple.

Down in the Remake Centre, Drakon and Peridot's stylist, Havier Munez, manhandle us into the chariots and have to force the collar violently over my head and make Peridot look like she's being aggressive with me. The whole thing is rather embarrassing in front of everybody else, and I think the District 9 tributes actually do think we're being attacked.

They do manage to get us to cooperate eventually, however, but it's awkward, to say the least. Here I am, practically chained to my district partner who is too shy to even ease the tension. Sighing, I glance around at the other tributes, trying to glean some knowledge about them. That District 2 boy – he's bulky, and may well be all brawn but no brains. The District 7 boy doesn't seem to be paying much attention to what's going on around him. Is he easily distracted? That won't play to his advantage, although the innocent look on his face may draw in a few adoring sponsors. The District 9 girl seems to be keeping to herself as much as Peridot is. Is this an act? I remember several of the quieter tributes winning in the last few Games – perhaps that's her strategy as well. All the way at the back of the line, the District 12 girl is scrutinising everyone, though subtly. I raise an eyebrow at her when I catch her staring at me. She only smirks slightly and looks away.

She'll be one to keep an eye on.

"Are we all ready?" Drakon marches over to us, Havier trotting behind in her wake. "Remember – you're an animal! A muttation! Something wild! _Feel the black stag!_"

Oh God.

The Capitol audience are more than a little shocked when we ride into the streets – since when were the Capitol's own weapons used as advertising in the chariot rides? – but they seem to like it, and warm up to Peridot in particular. They cheer us on, and we quickly become known as 'The Mutt Pair', probably the most intelligent name the Capitol citizens can come up with. And, alright, it's not the most attractive name ever, but it's certainly unique. District 5, the mutts.

Peridot's grip tightens on the leash, inadvertently jerking it and causing the collar to bite on the skin of my neck. She shoots me an apologetic glance, obviously a little nervous about so much attention being on us, so many people cheering for us. Those cheers will soon turn into roars for bloodshed once we get into the arena, but I don't think about that now, because Peridot has unintentionally yanked the leash again, a little more forcefully this time.

I really hope Peridot Reska doesn't end up strangling me accidentally on this chariot ride.

District 6 – Alexander Nuostabus POV

I sit stonily in our chariot, ignoring Darcy's attempts to make conversation. I'm really not in the mood. First of all, it's been tense between us ever since the train ride, when I refused to speak one word to her. She volunteered herself – why would she do that? And second of all, couldn't they have got us a better stylist this year? I'm dressed as a doctor, while Darcy is playing the nurse. How original. This is what District 6 is every single year. Doctors and nurses, with slight variations of the outfits or hair each time; we're almost as boring as District 7, who are trees every year.

The variation on my doctor's outfit this year is the wig they've shoved on my head, which makes me look more like a mad scientist than anything. Darcy was obviously supposed to be my sexy assistant originally, but her stylist must have heard that 6's girl tribute was thirteen and the boy tribute's sister, and tried to lengthen the dress by adding more material on to the bottom of it. It hasn't really worked out, but nobody will notice when we're sitting down.

Somebody shouts that it's time to get started, and District 1 is sent into the streets as prep teams flock around us to touch up our makeup and arrange last minute positions. As I'm still pretending I can't hear my sister, I take the chance to look round at the other tributes. Surprisingly, District 7 aren't your average trees this year; must be just us who look like the usual idiots. The boy, who I don't think is older than twelve, has had his skin painted green and his clothes designed to look like tree bark, which would be alright if it weren't for the fact that the girl sitting next to him was dressed in an earth toned dress with leaves woven into her hair and around her outfit, making them both look like forest fairies or something stupid like that.

District 3 is long gone when District 4's tributes hurtle into the Remake Centre, making a show of themselves as usual. They've only just sat down when their chariot is racing off, with District 5 glaring daggers at them. Behind me, I see the 12 tributes engulfed in smoke – who knows what's happened there? – and the 11 tributes are unreadable, each ignoring the other.

Then it's our turn. Just before we ride out of the doors, I glance back one last time to catch a glimpse of the District 10 boy offering his hand to the girl tribute sitting next to him. She clutches it without hesitation.

What's going on there, then?

"You're going to have to talk to me soon, you know," Darcy tells me, plastering on a smile for the crowds. I can't be bothered with this routine. Instead, I opt to stare straight above their heads and act uninterested. Cold.

She tries again, waving now. "I know you're angry with me. I'm sorry, alright? I'm sorry I did it. I just didn't know you cared so much."

That grabs my attention. "Of course I care," I hiss at her. "You're my sister. Don't be stupid, of course I care."

"Then show it every once in a while," she snaps back. "You could be a little supportive instead of giving me the cold shoulder."

"You didn't leave me with much choice, Darcy. I still can't believe you just volunteered like that. You've sold your life away, don't you get it? You're thirteen and you've offered yourself up to die!" My anger is rising, something I usually never let get the better of me. "You're an idiot, Darcy. You're going to die, you stupid girl."

"It's nice to know you've got so much faith in me," Darcy says between gritted teeth. It's amazing she can smile and wave like nothing is wrong through our argument. "Maybe I will win. How would you feel then?"

"Dead," I say dryly. The corner of her mouth twitches.

"I sacrificed myself for Morgan! Maybe that shows I have an ounce of good in me, unlike you!" Darcy is starting to lose it now. Well, we must keep up appearances. Not that I want to, but our mentors would give us hell later if we didn't, and I've better things to be doing than being shouted at.

`'I don't want to see you die. I don't care if Morgan dies in these bloody Games, but I'm not watching you die," I say firmly.

"There it is! You don't want me to die, but it's perfectly alright for one of my best friends to die! That's why nobody likes you, Alex. You're awful to everybody." Ouch, that hurt. Not.

"I have Kean," I point out, referring to pretty much my only friend back home.

"Who is an idiot," she retorts. "If you want to go all protective brother on me, that's fine. Do what you like. But in less than a week, I might be dead. Whatever you do is too little, too late, Alex."

We don't speak for the rest of the chariot ride. The unasked question hangs in the tense air between us: _Where were you when I needed you all my life? _And Darcy has a point. I've been cruel to her all her life, and now when I finally decide I want to protect her, it's almost inevitable that it will all be in vain. Useless.

But like she said, too little, too late.

At President Snow's mansion, Darcy appears to be listening intently, like she actually cares about what he's saying. I wonder if the cameras can pick up on the tension between us. I wonder if somebody will have caught our hushed argument somehow and we'll be the latest Hunger Games gossip tomorrow morning.

At least District 12 has stopped smoking, though they look a bit like birds which have been cooked and badly burnt. I'm not sure what they were supposed to be dressed as.

Back at the Training Centre, I try to catch up with Darcy before she locks herself in her room, having escaped from my prep team by the skin of my teeth. But the door slams in my face as I'm raising my fist to knock.

_Too little, too late._


	4. Training: Day 1

**AN: Sorry this is a little late! But really guys, 8 reviews for last chapter compared to 19 each for Chapters 3 and 4? :S I love you all really. Has anyone seen the Katniss and Rue video made by MainStayPro? It's on youtube - just type in 'Katniss and Rue', and click on it... if it doesn't make you cry, you have a heart of stone. They are the actresses who should have been cast as Katniss and Rue - I don't care if Rue is supposed to be dark-skinned. xD Oh, and they've just posted the 2nd Quarter Quell as well. And oh my gooooosh, Haymitch is hot. ;)**

**Right! So training. This is how it'll work: I'm going to do all three days of training, MINUS the private sessions with the Gamemakers because I... can't be bothered to do those. o.O You'll still find out each tribute's training score, though, and an idea of what they did! In each day, they'll be 8 POVs, (except this one which only has 7, because I was struggling with the last POV and wanted to get this out as soon as possible) so that in total each tribute will get a POV in training. I just see training as important, because it's describing alliances and relationships and whatnot, so I want to spend more time on it. To make it fair to the six tributes who haven't had a POV yet, I'll give them one during the interviews (which are one big chapter, oh God), so everyone will have had 2 POVs each before the Games actually start. Phew. Make sense? xD**

**After that... long authors note, here is the next chapter! Please enjoy. :)**

* * *

><p><span>District 10 - Braeden Koi POV<span>

Lusa, Dr Barra Ryers, and I are sitting at breakfast, munching away in silence. Today is the first day of training, and the first day we really get to see what our competition is. How well trained are the Careers this year? Who are the ones who know nothing about surviving in the Games? Who prefers using mental strength over physical strength?

Well, I've no idea how to answer any of those questions, so I'm just going to wing it.

Barra is absorbed in his own thoughts, chewing thoughtfully on a piece of bacon. He's still absolutely set on training my mind, instead of anything else, even though I've told him multiple times I won't be any good at that. As my mentor, you'd think he would listen to me, but apparently not.

"What do you think?" Lusa asks me, gesturing to the food. There's far too much for just four people to eat first thing in the morning. In fact, not even four, because Lusa's mentor isn't here yet.

I raise my eyebrows. 'The bread tastes funny," I say, picking up an untouched roll of bread and dropping it onto Lusa's plate in mock disgust. She laughs.

"That's because it's District 4 bread. You know, seaweed and all that. You're not used to it," she replies matter-of-factly, tearing off a piece of the bread and popping it in her mouth. She wrinkles up her nose. "Ours must be so disgusting we've learned to like it."

I chuckle at her face. Not a fan of seaweed being chucked into bread, then. "Come on, then. What are we doing in training today?"

Lusa bites her lip. "Shouldn't we wait until Calite comes down?"

"He's a useless old git, won't do us any harm to make up our own strategy," I shrug. Lusa's jaw falls open. Oh, God, he's not standing behind me, is he? "You're going to catch flies in there, Lusa," I tell her pleasantly, reaching up and gently pushing her chin up. She blushes.

"Alright, then. But what do you mean by 'we'?" she asks.

"Well, we're practically unspoken allies, aren't we?" I point out, and it's true. In one single day, we've grown closer than nearly district partners or even allies do throughout the whole Games. I already know about her strict upbringing, the suspicious death of her brother nine years ago, her parents and their slightly obsessive rules about truthful responses every time and immediate actions. I don't say it out loud, but from what Lusa's told me, I'm not sure her parents have ever been entirely fair to her or allowed her enough freedom. To be honest, I think she's scared of them, which is why it's apparently hard for her to say no to any request from anyone, because all her experience leads her to believe it's disrespectful, even if the request is absurd or wrong. I even know about Handler, though the only thing I know is that he's Lusa's best friend, whom her parents obviously don't know about. I can sense she doesn't really want to tell me anymore about him, which I can fully understand. When you've got some sort of safe haven like that, you want to keep all its secrets to yourself.

I'm not jealous in the slightest.

"We are?" Lusa asks airily, as if this is news to her, but she looks positively thrilled.

"Well, we can do it the proper way if you want," I say, slightly bemusedly. Holding out my hand, she doesn't hesitate to clutch it. It reminds me of how she didn't hesitate to hold my hand in the chariot yesterday. "Allies?"

"Allies," she agrees, and we shake on it. Grinning, we break off and go back to our breakfast, somewhat more pleased at making it official.

Calite chooses that moment to amble into the dining room, a half-empty bottle already in his hand. "Morning, Koi!" he announces, making his way round to the back of Lusa's chair. He ruffles her hair, and she sighs deeply. "Morning, Lady Muscles!"

Lusa spits out a massive gulp of hot coffee she's just in the middle of drinking, and it lands right on me. Horrified, her eyes widen comically and she lets out a little whimper.

"Oh, God! I'm so sorry, Braeden!" she gushes, frantically patting the table down for napkins. Finding one, she starts dabbing my coffee-soaked white shirt in a frenzy, apologising to me over and over again. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to! It was what Calite said! Are you hurt? Did it burn you? It was still quite hot – oh, no, that's never going to come out now! I'm so –"

"Lusa, it's _fine,_" I say firmly, catching her hands and putting them down by her sides. "It's OK, I promise. There are such things as clean T-shirts, you know." She blushes. "I'll just go and put a fresh one on. But why did you feel the need to spew coffee all over me, can I ask?"

Her expression changes immediately. Glaring at Calite – who is now on his hands and knees on the floor, doubled over with laughter – she snaps, with surprising ferocity I've seen nothing of yet, "He called me – he called me _Lady Muscles_! How did you find out?" she demands.

"I overhear things, girlie," he replies, grinning as he picks himself up and takes a swig from the bottle in his hand.

"What? You had no right to eavesdrop on us." I'm getting angrier now, at this man who refuses to give Lusa any help, at this man who is more concerned with his drink than keeping someone alive. "

"Let's just say it's part of my job, boy," is Calite's discouraging response as he saunters towards the door, picking up a second bottle along the way from a table. Who on earth thought offering free alcohol at breakfast was a good idea? "Anyway, I was just passing – I promise." He winks, before making his hasty retreat out the door.

"See what I have to put up with?" Lusa sighs frustratedly. I smile sympathetically.

"It's nearly ten anyway. Let's get a move on and head down to training," I suggest, starting to lead the way down the hall. "You can throw knives at a dummy's head and pretend it's Calite."

District 4 – Mellish Reed POV

We are the last ones to arrive at training.

Big surprise there, then. Is this going to become a regular thing? Of course, it was Melody's prep team who made us late. Again. Why were they even here at half past nine in the morning, trying to force Melody to try out a new outfit that would make her look more 'intimidating'? Glancing around quickly, I confirm that, yes, Melody is the only tribute dressed as a fish.

Very intimidating.

Predictably, she's insanely grumpy, and just glares murderously at anyone who she catches staring. It doesn't make a difference, though, because everybody is staring. A couple are outwardly sniggering, mainly the female District 1 and 2 tributes. I don't blame them, but as I'm pretending Melody doesn't exist, I would ruin the whole thing by laughing at her.

Still, maybe this will work in my favour. If everybody is distracted by the fish in the room, nobody will notice the other District 4 tribute. I can slip under the radar, keep my talents and my interests to myself. The rest of the Careers are always eager to show off in training, but have any of them ever thought about the element of surprise? I'll ally with the Careers – of course I will – but when it comes to betraying them, I'll have the advantage. They won't know what I'm capable of. They'll have hardly even noticed me.

A tall, muscular man called Icarus steps up to explain to us how our training is going to work. We'll have three days, and in the afternoon of the third day we'll have our private sessions with the Gamemakers. In these three days, we'll be free to move around the different stations as we wish. Easy enough. As soon as Icarus lets us go, about half the tributes flock immediately to their preferred stations, while the rest of us hover, trying to decide which area to visit first. None of us want to be alone, but then again, none of us want to be stuck with the wrong people either. Making my decision fairly quickly, I head over to where the District 2 boy – Titan Ashes, I seem to remember from the replay of the reapings – is working at the spear station.

"You can throw?" Titan asks me gruffly, as he lobs another spear and it lands smack in the middle of the dummy's chest. Impressive.

"I can use a knife, if that counts for anything." Stealing a long knife from the station next door, ignoring the instructor's cries of protest to keep all the weapons in their correct stations, I position myself and then attack the dummy, slashing away in all the essential places on its body. My technique is a bit messy, but it's effective. If the dummy was a real person, it would have been dead minutes ago. Titan glances at the easy cuts I made on the dummy, looks me up and down, and holds out his hand for me to shake.

And it's easy as that.

Zircon Terric, Ember Maloff and Aveira Malik are already in the Careers, they must have made an agreement earlier. We join them at the archery station, where I'm introduced to everyone.

"Nice one, Titan," Aveira says approvingly. She motions to Melody, over at the knot tying station. "Your district partner. Is she worth asking?"

Glancing over to said district partner, I see that she's stripped off the ludicrous fish outfit and is now in just black leggings and a black top, and think about it. She's definitely not a typical Career. I mean, right now she's chatting happily enough with the instructor at her station, and is actually making him laugh. What useful Career is so _cheerful?_ Unless she's hiding some vicious cruel streak, or way of killing people off… but then I remember her conversation with her brother and mentor, Matthew, this morning at breakfast. I overheard him telling her to keep her talents of hand-to-hand combat and perfect aim to herself, and using her running. Of course, being from 4 she's bound to be a good swimmer too. Is she worth it? As long as I don't have to talk to her, I suppose so.

"Yeah, I'd give it a go," I nod.

"Great!" Aveira throws me a simpering smile. I wink back, and she raises an eyebrow before rushing off to persuade Melody to join our group.

"Come on then, District 4," Ember sighs, as if she can't be bothered to put up with any of us. "Climbing station. Let's go and scare off the wittle babies." Striding off to go and growl at the District 12 and District 3 boys or something like that, she leaves Zircon, Titan and I to follow her. We do so, but I can feel Titan's eyes burning into me the whole way.

Three times during the day, I catch him staring at me, and at Melody too. Why are we such a great source of interest to him?

Something tells me it's not Melody's fish outfit.

District 6 – Darcy Nuostabus POV

I don't want to talk to Alex, but it's sort of hard not to. We're allies, after all. Being brother and sister, we have to be. To look after each other.

As the other tributes filter off in their different directions, Alex says quietly into my ear, "Allies, right?"

I stare at him bemusedly. "You know we are. Did you think I was going to abandon you? Mum and Dad would be terrified for us both if I did that!"

"More like they'd be terrified for you and angry at me." The words are said under his breath, but I catch them nonetheless. Still, I pretend I haven't heard anything.

"So. I'm guessing you won't let anyone else join us?" I ask, half-hopeful, but already knowing his answer.

"No," he says curtly, and I have to laugh, at least a little. If he burst into flames right now, Alex probably wouldn't ask for assistance. He won't trust anyone.

"Why not?" I plead playfully. "I'd love another girl around –"

"No, Darcy. It's just us two," Alex says firmly, turning round and heading towards the edible plants area.

Rolling my eyes, I go after him. "I was just joking. I know it's just us. We stand a better chance with each other anyway."

He nods stiffly, but it's easy to tell we're thinking the same thing. _Only one person can win the Hunger Games._

And that means one of us will have to die.

Mum and Dad must be going crazy.

At the edible plants station, the instructor seems excited beyond belief to have company. Alex already knows a lot, so I'm not sure why he's dragged me along to it. In fact, he spends the entire morning visiting the camouflage, fire making, traps and snares, and knot tying stations as well as anything else to do with the more basic side of surviving in the wild.

"Why are we wasting time with all these stations?" I complain, when lunchtime is drawing near. "You know all this already! Why do I need to learn it?"

"Because you're so lazy that you don't know anything. You're useless," Alex replies shortly.

Sighing deeply, I push on with, "But why do I need to know it if you know it? Why can't we split up?"

"You'll die if you don't know basic stuff like this!" Alex snaps, yanking the noose he was tying so violently that I'm somewhat glad no one's head was near it. But it still doesn't make sense. Why waste time doing things that Alex –

Oh. Suddenly, I understand. Alex is right, after all. I wouldn't know any of this if Alex weren't here.

He's preparing me for if he dies.

The thought is so awful that it doesn't bear thinking about. Lose Alex? I'd rather die myself! How could I not see this before? Alex is going to do everything in his power to protect me, even if means giving his own life. It's such an un-Alex thing to do that it's hard to get my head round it at first, but I suppose it's obvious to everyone else. We're brother and sister. We're allies. As the older brother, Alex is expected to put my life before his own, and that's exactly what he's planning on doing. Well, whether it's out of character or not – I never even knew Alex cared about me, even a little, until now – I'm not standing for it. It isn't fair.

But I can't exactly tell him that. He'd just deny what he was planning and laugh at me, tell me in the most insulting way possible that I'm thirteen and a girl and I'm an idiot to think I can 'protect' him but that he didn't really expect me to be any less idiotic. Well, something along those lines. He'll find some way to cover up his tracks and offend me at the same time, anyway.

So for the rest of the day, I go around with Alex without complaining or acting up, and he seems pleased enough with my obedience. Probably makes his job easier for him. But I'm slowly realising that it's not just the other tributes I'll be fighting, but Alex too.

And I am not going down without a fight.

District 9 – Hamlet Simmons POV

One thing you don't really expect when you're someone like me is to form an alliance on the first day.

I mean, I'm perfectly happy about that. I know no one in their right mind would want to bother allying with me, and that's their choice and I'm fine with that. What can I do? In training, it becomes pretty obvious what each tribute can do and how useless they are, no matter how hard they try to hide it. And that allows people to pick out the tributes they want as their allies. I'm one of the useless tributes. Which basically ensures me no chance of an alliance, or anyone to rely on in the Games, but you can't blame them. They're only trying to keep themselves alive.

So it's a bit of a surprise when, at the camouflage station where I'm painting myself to look like reeds at the waterside, a girl pops up from nowhere beside me. A girl I'm already familiar with, since she's my district partner.

"What are you painting yourself as?" Birch asks, in her quietly curious way. I decided I liked her when we were on the train to the Capitol. She doesn't make fun of me like everyone else.

"Reeds. You know, those plants in the water." I don't think she does know what reeds are, but she smiles softly anyway.

"You're very good. It's really convincing."

Camouflage. My only defence in the Hunger Games.

"I picked it up from my mother. She works in an apothecary, but she's an artist too," I tell her, unconcerned about sharing personal information about myself.

"So you must be good with plants and medicine too, then?" Birch guesses, picking up a pot of paint and dabbing dark green onto her arm.

Shrugging, I say, "Yes, I suppose so. I've not really had a choice but to be good at those three things. It's just what you grow up around, I think…" Distracted by an interesting array of yellows, oranges and reds just itching to be used, I start to paint myself glowing like the setting sun, not noticing Birch's struggles with her own paint until I'm nearly finished.

"Here, like this. Let me help you," I offer, and she hands over her brush with a sheepish smile. Well, we probably won't have paintbrushes in the arena, so I toss that to the side and use my fingers instead. Birch has managed to create an unflattering mess of varying shades of green, which will only get her more noticed rather than enable her to blend into the background. I start work in silence, first working on the base layer of green, painting appropriate lighter and darker shades with dapples of light shining through them, like the sun rays shining through the leaves in the trees. Then I begin to work brown into the mix, and before long, everything is blending together perfectly and Birch would just melt into a tree of her choice if her whole body was painted like this.

"Thanks," she smiles gratefully. "I should be better at this. I'm usually quite good at art – I do woodcarving, you know."

Woodcarving? That's something I've never tried before. I tell her just this, and Birch's eyes light up immediately. She proceeds to tell me everything she knows and has learnt over the years, and I listen with interest. Birch wouldn't be such a bad person to ally with. She actually seems to like me, a feeling with which I'm not familiar.

"So, do you want to team up?" she asks, a bit nervously, at the end of her speech.

My jaw drops in surprise. "You mean, as in allies? With _you_?"

"You don't have to –" Birch covers quickly, but stares at me curiously when I start to grin.

"Sure. I mean, I didn't really expect to get allies at all. Thanks! But are you certain you want to ally with me?" I can't be her first choice of ally, surely?

"You're better than any Career," she says warmly, making me smile. Holding out her hand, I shake it, a bit overcome with happiness. "Allies, then. Sounds like a plan."

"It does," I agree, staring at this girl who's actually taken me under her wing. And suddenly, I don't care if I die in a few days time, because right now, I couldn't be happier.

District 8 – Lupine Yarok POV

The Gamemakers arrive after we've all had lunch. Lunch itself was annoying enough, since I was being dogged by The One Who Wouldn't Piss Off.

"Afternoon, Lu!" Tristan plonked himself down beside me, with an unbelievably massive plate of food. I sighed. I was fine by myself, eating alone like half the tributes were! Why did he feel the need to come and 'brighten up my day'? Ever since the train, Tristan had been making a point to follow me around and find me. Was this his way of distracting me from the Games? If so, it really wasn't a very good tactic.

Even when the puppy-dog eyes came out.

"What do you want, Tristan?" I asked tiredly, trying to seem bored of him and nothing else. I didn't want to admit that every time he talked to me, he actually _did _make me feel happier. Honestly, you can't help laughing when Tristan's around. He has a knack for making people feel better.

"To talk to you," he beamed, settling himself further down. As if he could get any more comfortable against this wall. "And to steal your food." Before I could stop him, he swiped a piece of bread from my plate and stuffed it all in his mouth.

"Tristan!" I exclaimed exasperatedly.

"What?" he asked innocently.

"You stole my bread!" I accused, like he didn't already know that.

"… _Lu! _What have you done with your bread? It was on your plate a moment ago, I saw it, and now it's gone! Have you been feeding homeless Capitol people again?" He looked at me disapprovingly and I couldn't help my mouth tugging into a smile. "Ah, there's that beautiful smile I wanted!"

Whacking his arm, I said very sternly, "Stop it! Oh, behave, Tristan. People are staring."

"Yes, because you hit me for no apparent reason. Violence is never the answer!" Tristan insisted. I stared at him, not sure whether to laugh or be worried, because this is the Hunger Games we're in and violence is the answer to everything. Setting his plate down, Tristan crossed his legs, put his thumb and forefinger together on each hand, and closed his eyes. "Come, meditate with me."

He's mad. Absolutely, infuriatingly, undeniably mad.

So as we move from station to station now, being watched by the Gamemakers who are more interested in their food than us, Tristan is trailing around after me like he's a lost puppy. Turning round suddenly, I pat his head and scruff up his hair like I'm petting a dog.

Surprised, he simply asks, "Why?"

"You're acting like a dog, Tristan. Stop following me everywhere." He gets down on one knee, and for a moment I think the worst – before I realise he's actually getting down on all fours to pretend to be a dog. "No, Tristan! Not now! What are you doing?"

He only gets the chance to woof a few times before I yank him up to stop him growling at the other tributes, who are all staring. We're both trying to contain our laughter.

"Honestly, what am I? Your mother?" I sigh, half-amused, half-exasperated – as usual. They seem to be the dominating pair of emotions when I'm around Tristan Thorin.

"Nah, I don't think so. If you were, I wouldn't be able to do this." And before I can even begin to assess what's going on, Tristan leans forward and kisses me square on the lips.

I think I preferred it when he was a dog.

"Tristan!" My voice is nearly a shout as I push him off me. "What are you – why did you –" I don't know what to say. Running a hand a little desperately through my hair, I turn around to find everyone staring at us. All the other tributes, all the instructor, and all the Gamemakers. When I look back at Tristan, he looks like he doesn't know whether to smile or not. So this was another one of his jokes, was it? Another one of his crazy, spontaneous moves?

Well, this time, it's not funny.

Not sparing him a second glance, I stride towards the spear station, pick one up – ignoring the instructor's terrified expression – and lob it as hard as I can at the dummy. I miss it, of course, but at least now I have something to take my anger out on.

"What are you all staring at?" I snap viciously into the dead silence. Hurriedly, everyone rushes back to what they were doing, most still throwing me wary glances. Pelting spear after spear after spear at the dummy, I block everyone else out, especially Tristan.

I ignore him all day, in fact. He deserves it.

What if this gets out at the interviews?

District 7 – Alondra Abella POV

Right. Training. The place where you… train, I suppose.

Oh, what I do?

I mean, it's useless, giving us three days to train to do things. You can't learn a new skill in three days. It takes time, effort… dedication. Not three days of struggling, being gawped at by twenty-three others who are probably better than you and always under the watchful eye of the sadistic Gamemakers. This is another thing that makes the Hunger Games so stupid. So pointless.

What can I train to do? Well, I could do with not being blind in my left eye, but that's wishing for a miracle. What a shame – getting my full sight back would be the most useful thing I could pick up here. Stupid chainsaw, kicking back at me when I was thirteen. Stupid lumber, stupid work, stupid Districts. Stupid Capitol.

I didn't say that out loud, did I? Oh, thank God. The Gamemakers are here. They'd probably give me an automatic score of zero if they heard that.

Anyway. Focus, Alondra. Don't stand there like a sack of potatoes. Think: useful things! Useful skills to know! I'm not very good at running, I'm not very good at aim, I'm not very good at dealing with hunger… aim! That's it. Pleased with my decision, I head over to the knife station where a couple of girls from Districts 1 and 2 are practising throwing knives. Oh, they're good. Of course they are, they're Careers. Why can't they just clear off until I'm finished?

"Erm, could you please help me?" I ask the instructor politely, smiling at him. He looks me up and down, sighs very deeply, and makes his way round the table to me at snail's pace.

Don't rush, then. I've got all the time in the world.

He shows me how to hold the throwing knife first. Then he takes up position, demonstrates the hand movement (which involves a lot of 'flicky-flicky-wrist'; his words, not mine), and then actually throws the knife himself. It lands neatly in the dummy's head. Some people make it look so easy, don't they? Well then, it must be.

Clutching the knife in my right hand, I try to mirror the position he showed me. I practise the flicky-flicky-wrist job a few times – by now, I'm aware of the Districts 1 and 2 girls watching me like well-groomed hawks – and then I do it for real. Let go of the knife… see it fly through the air… oh, that doesn't look too bad…

Until it lodges in the instructor's thigh.

The Districts 1 and 2 girls nearly collapse on each other laughing. The instructor is swearing and trying to yank the knife out of his thigh while a few men who must be doctors rush to his aid, popping up from nowhere. Are they on standby constantly for anything that might go wrong in training?

"I'm so sorry!" I exclaim repeatedly, horrified at what I've done. "I'm so sorry – I didn't mean to do that! It was supposed to hit the dummy… is there anything I can do?"

"No!" the instructor gets out between gritted teeth. I have a feeling he doesn't want me here. Trying to ignore the giggling girls as I walk past them, I avert my eyes elsewhere and they fall on a small figure, watching me. It's Katriel Keen, my district partner. The small boy who's always off in his own world.

"You saw that, did you?" I ask sheepishly, walking up to him. He glances at me as if he's only just noticed I exist.

"Everyone did," he replies unconcernedly, and I blush bright red as I realise that everyone is staring curiously between me and the scene of the instructor surrounded by doctors, trying to get a bloody knife out of his leg.

"Ah… oh, yes. Of course they did. Do you think he'll be alright?" I ask nervously, gesturing towards the instructor. He doesn't seem very hurt – just angry, and humiliated. So not a very good mix, then.

"He'll be fine," Katriel shrugs, starting to walk away. For some reason, something makes me stop him.

"Wait! Do you want to go to another station together?" I ask. Katriel regards me warily. "I mean, one away from all weapons… and anything sharp or dangerous…"

He considers my offer. "What about axes?" he asks finally.

Axes _are _sharp and dangerous. Then I realise he must mean that he's good with axes, and wants to show me. Well, if that's what he wants, I'm not complaining. I could use a person who is actually good with weapons.

"That'll do," I smile, and follow him to the station, where the axe specialist or whoever she is eyes me cautiously and keeps me a good distance away from all her precious axes.

That might be because the knife instructor is still trying to shout obscenities at me even as he's carried away from the training room.

District 12 – Lennox Harper POV

The Career pack is tough this year.

It may not be obvious, but they are. There are the typical Career girls, District 1 and 2, whose pre-Games training is so painfully obvious. They catch the eye of nearly every male in the room – and that District 9 girl as well. Then there's the boy from 1, who's always smiling and being pleasant enough towards everyone, whether they're part of his alliance or not. I wonder what that smile hides? The boy from 2 seems unpredictable. I've not seen him crack one emotion yet – the only time I heard him speak was to the 4 boy. Oh, the 4 boy. Much more your typical Career than either of 1 or 2's boys. Clearly, he's strong and knows the tricks of his district. Most likely using a trident, as that seems to be District 4's forte on the weapons front. His district partner, on the other hand, doesn't seem all that willing to join the Careers. She doesn't quite fit in with them, although they accept her readily enough because of her training. Yes, she's talented.

But not quite Career-material. Will that be her downfall?

Unsurprisingly, the six of them don't take anyone else in during training. This year, they are a very standard Career pack, recruiting no one from 7 or 10, for example, who might be strong. Actually, I did one of the girls approach the boy from 5, but he shook her off like she was a fly on his shoulder. That might change during the Games, however. The Careers usually manage to persuade or more likely blackmail a tribute from another district to join their group, if they have a skill they could use. They'll get rid of them after they've served their purpose, though.

Sometimes, it's hard to tell the difference between the Careers and the Capitol citizens.

Making my way over to the sword station, I pick one up and feel its weight in my hands. I've never handled a sword before, but isn't it just a longer version of a dagger? I'm familiar with those, at least. The sword fits well in my grip, and it feels natural to swing, to slash at the dummy.

I wonder whether it would feel natural to kill somebody with this sword.

"You done that before?" the instructor asks, as I land another well-placed blow to the dummy. Right through the side of the stomach.

"No," I shrug. "But I pick things up clearly."

He gawps at me, before shaking his head and turning away to help the girl from 6. I recognise her immediately – who could forget the siblings who are both tributes this year? For a split second, I think about making an alliance, but the thoughts are cast away quickly. He doesn't make it obvious, but the 6 boy is doing everything in his power to protect his younger sister. He's been taking her to basic survival stations all day. She might not be able to see it, but if he were to die, basic survival is a more crucial skill to have than the ability to wield any weapon. He's preparing her for if he dies and he isn't there to take care of certain things. In other words, he's doing everything possible to make sure he lives.

Love is a dangerous thing, and he loves his sister. Therefore, he's one of the biggest threats to the rest of us.

Alliances aren't my priority at the moment, anyway. To be honest, I think I'd act better without one. When you've got an alliance, you've got people who rely on you, and you don't have a choice but to rely on other people. There's trust issues, the constant risk of betrayal. But there's the even higher risk of not being able to betray your alliance. That's what has dragged so many tributes down in past Games.

I excel at the puzzle solving station. Nobody really knows why it's even here in the first place, seeing as there are never really any puzzles in the arena. It's just a case of violence, violence, violence, all the time. But you can never be too prepared.

The instructor is impressed – and probably very surprised to have a visitor – and gives me the hardest challenges she has ready. They're so easy, it's almost funny. Problems with numbers, shapes, codes, riddles. I can see straight through them. Catching a couple of people staring at me enviously from across the room, I make it a point to ignore them. Thank God the Careers are ignoring me - they usually ignore the supposedly weaker tributes, anyway, until they have to start picking them off near the end of the Games. Good. I don't want them knowing what I can do.

Maybe it's just me being _modest_, but I'm probably the smartest tribute here. And that, unlike weapons and alliances and lives and means of survival, is something nobody can take away from me.

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><p><strong>Review for Lu and Tristan? And Lusa and Braeden? :D<strong>


	5. Training: Day 2

**AN: Hello! I'm sorry for the stupidly long wait. I'd just like to say this: if I take a while to update, there is a reason. Please don't beg me to update, because it's likely that I can't. My life is hectic at the moment, but I'm even prioritising this story over everything else I'm supposed to be writing. I do try and update on schedule, but like everybody else, life can suddenly decide to get in the way and I might miss the deadline. I'm really sorry for that. If it's any consolation, my chapters are quite long, aren't they? ;)**

**Here is Training Day 2 at last. Ashstorm of Winterclan, since I can't PM you: I do actually have a method to how I write the characters - it's to do with alliances. I write one person out of each alliance's POV per chapter (apart from the Careers, as they've got 6 people), so that's a clue towards alliances who may form later. The description thing: do you mean the descriptions people give when they're filling out a form for their tribute? I think you do, but I'm not entirely sure. xD If you do, then I prefer longer, more detailed descriptions. Short and concise ones are usually just a list of adjectives which are no help to me at all, and I end up having to spend time coming up with more quirks, traits and pointers on how they act to give the character some depth. With a long and detailed description, I can usually squish it all into my own words and weave them into how the character acts and interacts with others, rather than just saying for example: 'Zircon was nice. Zircon was polite and treated everyone the same. Zircon smiled a lot.' because that's just... crap. ^.^ Oh, and I love your names for the alliances! I'll try and have a guess, though I'm really bad at guessing: Team You're Royally Fucked 'The Careers', Team Lovesick Puppy 'Lusa and Braeden', Team Artsy Fartsy 'Birch and Hamlet', Team Lumberjack 'Alondra and Katriel', Team I Work Alone, Bitch 'Lennox'. Again, I'm horrible at guessing, but brilliant names. :D**

**Remember to review, and you're all fantastic for putting up with the unstable updates!**

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><p><span>District 2 - Aveira Malik POV<span>

Swords. So many different ones, more than I've ever seen before in one place. Their silver blades gleaming in the light of the training centre, their handles ranging from simple to intricately designed. They are itching to be held, to be used…

Here, I am in my element.

I learnt how to fight with swords when I was very young. It's no surprise, really – most people in my district are trained from an early age for the Games. It's one of Panem's loudest secrets. Of course, we're not supposed to train – it's much more entertaining for people to watch an arena full of kids who blindly struggle to tear each other's eyes out or cut inexperienced wounds which cause the victim to bleed to teach – but everyone knows we do. And why shouldn't we? The other districts are, frankly, idiots for not taking a leaf out of our book. If there's a chance you could be reaped for the Hunger Games, then it makes sense that there should also be a chance of actually surviving for a little while in them. Maybe we'd have different reasons for training – us, the usual Careers, for the opportunity to win honour and glory and wealth, and them just to survive and go back to their families – but I still despise seeing the tributes who wander around like lost sheep, like they expect people to take pity on them because they have no useful skills.

That's their fault.

My father taught my brother and I to use several different weapons, but while Cade preferred the bigger, more full-on weapons like maces and axes, I fell head-over-heels for the sword. So sharp and clean and precise… we fit each other. That was the truth of it, and it brought me joy to handle a sword.

Landing yet another clean cut to the dummy, I stand back, appreciating my work. It's a pathetic little dummy now. I've cleanly severed its head and both its arms, and the stuffing is spilling out of the slashes I made in the stomach.

"You're good at that."

I whip round. Titan Ashes is watching me, arms folded across his chest, expressionless as usual. How long has he been there?

I flash him my biggest smile, and reply with, "I know." Changing my mind, I add, "No, not good, sweetie. I'm the best."

Titan raises his eyebrows. Then he launches himself at me, giving me little time to figure out what's going on before I'm on the ground, Titan straddling me with my own sword tip pressed against my neck. Eyes darting to the side, I realise he's pretty much killed another dummy on his way down. Didn't all of that take about two seconds?

"Second best," he corrects, and he's not even breathing any heavier as he stands and offers me a hand to help me up. Staring at him disbelievingly, I scowl and ignore his hand. "Suit yourself."

"Thank you for humiliating me," I hiss at him, wrenching my sword back. He doesn't even flinch as I press the blade against his own neck. "I thought we were allies."

He doesn't say anything, just stares back at me. God, what's wrong with this boy?

"Alright," I say, a little unsure on whether or not my message has gotten through to him. "Think about that next time."

Drawing back, I throw him one more glare and then proceed to make mincemeat out of the dummy Titan started on. What was that all about? How dare he embarrass me like that! We'll see who comes out on top in the arena. How many grudges does Titan Ashes even have?

Speaking of grudges: Mellish is at my side in an instant. I watch Titan's expression harden at the sight of him curiously. "Anything wrong here?" Mellish asks evenly, looking between Titan and I. Our hands are barely touching, and I throw him a simpering smile.

"We're fine, Mellish, sweetie," I purr. Titans frowns slightly, and I don't blame him. I'm just as confused as him as to why I'm now calling everybody 'sweetie'. "Titan was just moving on to the next station."

"Nah, I'm fine here, actually," Titan shrugs, standing his ground.

"I think she wants you to leave her alone," Mellish tells Titan, a hint of hostility in his voice as he steps closer to my district partner.

"I don't think I want to leave. It's your girlfriend's fault if she gets sour when she's beaten fair and square."

No fear, that one.

Mellish growls – am I that repulsive to have as a girlfriend? – and I can se his hand about to dart out and grab the sword I'm holding. Well, we can't have enemies in our alliance before the Games even start, so I step away quickly and say, "Mellish, why don't you go and help out Melody with the spears? She seems to be struggling, poor girl."

Melody isn't even at the spear station, so I'm not surprised when Mellish throws me an odd look, but he leaves anyway. Turning to Titan, I raise my eyebrows.

"What do you have against District 4?" I ask urgently, keeping my voice low.

"Scared your little boyfriend's going to be the first to go while I'm on watch and the rest of you are sleeping?" Titan actually allows a small chuckle to pass his lips. It holds no warmth.

"As if I care about him!" I snap, losing my patience. Titan glances around.

"Better not let him hear that," Titan says, making no effort to keep his own voice down.

Ignoring him, I try again. "What have you got against Mellish? No, wait – it's Melody too, isn't it? Why do you hate District 4 so much?" I'm not concerned in the least about protecting either Mellish or Melody. I _am _concerned about what makes Titan, and each of my allies, snap. District 4 is a weakness for Titan, and I want to find out why.

"They took something from me," Titan shrugs.

"What? What did they take?"

"Something I'll never get back. Something they'll pay for." His dark eyes glaze over as he says this, but the mask is back on almost as soon as it slipped off. "But now isn't the time for a story. Now is time for training. See you at lunch."

And he walks away, leaving me trying not to look too frustrated at the lack of information. Now isn't the time for a story? Well, like it or not, Titan Ashes, I'm getting a story.

District 10 – Lusinderra Barette POV

Knot tying is a lot more difficult than it looks.

I mean, you'd think it would be simple. You've got a rope, you twist it around a bit, and hey presto! A knot. But apparently, it's a lot more complicated than that. There are double knots, knots that belong to different districts, knots you can only get by making other knots. The person who invented these obviously had far too much time on their hands.

Far. Too. Much. Time.

"You need any help with that?" I gasp as a pair of arms slip around my waist and a body presses into me from behind.

"Braeden," I half-smile, putting a hand to my chest, "don't do that! You scared me."

He laughs, bringing his hands up to mine. Quickly, he finishes off the knot I was struggling to do and puts it down on the table. Is it possible for hands to be smug? Because I'm pretty sure his hands are very smug right now.

"Thanks," I say sarcastically. "God, I can't even tie a knot. What am I going to do?"

"You'll be fine," Braeden assures me, rubbing me, and it's like I've only just become aware of how close we are. I mean, his arms are wrapped round me! Aren't people staring? I look around quickly.

"Feeling self-conscious?" he chuckles, and I can hear the deep sound in his chest. _Oh, God. _That's just made me think of how strongly I can feel his body heat, and his breath tickling my hair, and his hands still on mine, and how he smells…

I'm screwed.

Trying to distract myself, I ignore Braeden and complain, "I'm going to be useless in the arena! I don't know anything, I can't learn anything this fast, I'm as good as dead right now –"

"Don't say that." Braeden's hands clench tighter around mine. "You'll be fine, I promise. I'll protect you."

Remind me when I scored myself a knight in shining armour?

"Alright," I sigh. "I'll let you… protect me, or whatever it is you want to do."

"Good."

Oh. I was joking, but if he wants it that way…

"Braeden?"

"Yeah?"

"You can let go now."

I swear I can sense him grinning. "No thanks. I quite like being here."

Maybe he hears the slight warning in my voice, because he lets go of my hands and steps back to stand beside me, still grinning like a Cheshire cat. "So, Lusa. More knot tying?"

I grimace. "I think I would claw my own eyes out if I had to touch another knot again in my entire lifetime. Let's move on."

The edible plants station is deserted, but we work in silence matching up the various plants and berries. About ten minutes in, Braeden nudges me and mutters, "Look."

I follow his gaze to the station beside us, which is heaped with animals, mostly poisonous insects and venomous reptiles. The instructor is nowhere to be seen, but there's a boy crouched down in front of the table by a box of blood red ants. I can hear murmurs coming from him, and his head is bent close to the creatures.

"Who's that?" I ask Braeden quietly.

"Katriel Keen, District 7," he replies.

"What's he doing?"

"I think he's either organising an ant circus or rallying up a tiny army," Braeden whispers reasonably.

I burst out laughing, and quickly have to cover my mouth with my hand so Katriel won't hear. Still shaking with silent giggles, I choke out, "Seriously, what is he doing?"

"I've no idea, but it's probably something deadly. You know what they say: it's always the quiet ones." Braeden winks at me, and I snort with laughter at the thought of Katriel Keen and his animal-whisperer talent winning the Hunger Games. Not that I should be laughing, of course, because I stand an even worse chance than Katriel does. I'm so lucky I have Braeden.

"Come on then," Braeden says, "let's leave him alone to work out his master plan."

Still chuckling, we wander away and leave Katriel talking animatedly to the ants. I have to hide my face in my arms when I hear him mention sticky toffee pudding and shaving cream.

District 5 – Gabriel Thorp's POV

You know when there's a fly buzzing around in your room, and no matter how many doors and windows you open it just won't take the hint and fly out, and you name it the most stupid, annoying fly ever?

Well, that's how I felt now.

Except instead of a fly, it was Ember Maloff from District 1. And she just wouldn't leave me alone.

Wherever I went, she wouldn't hesitate to sneak up on me and pretend she actually had to be there for a reason besides stalking me. It happened all day yesterday and it showed no signs of stopping today. I really was getting sick of having a shadow following me everywhere I went. What did a Career want with me?

It's at the knot tying station that I decide enough is enough. Clearly, Ember Maloff is desperate to talk to me, because Careers never go to 'pointless' stations like knot tying. They rely on their weapons and their brutality. It's a shame that this sacred belief is what kills most of them in the end.

"Do you want something?" I ask as politely as I can, turning round to face her. Oh, of course she's taller than me. That helps.

Ember Maloff jumps, but recovers quickly as she sticks a sickly sweet smile on her face, as if she's just realised I'm here. Please. She's been scrutinising me so much I wouldn't be surprised if she'd burned two holes in the back of my head. "Oh, hello!" she chirps, like she's genuinely pleased to see me. "Gabe, isn't it?"

"Gabriel," I correct. If she uses my nickname without permission again, I'm going to hurt her, which is sounding more and more attractive right about now.

"Sure. So, Gabe –" I grit my teeth – "what is it you want? Because I'm rather busy here."

The nerve of her! If she thinks she can just brush me off like that after practically being my shadow yesterday and this morning, then she's got another thing coming.

"Actually, I think it's more a case of what you want," I reply in a perfectly measured tone.

"I don't know what you mean," she sighs, and makes to move away. Curiosity gets the better of me and I reach out and grab her arm without thinking. Ember Maloff glares round at me, about to spit out a threat – but no sound leaves her lips. Glancing round as if to make sure the coast is clear, she steps closer to me in one fluid movement, her lips by my ear.

"Listen, District 5," she hisses. "There are a few things you need to know if you want to join us. And number one is _do not touch me._"

It takes a moment to sink in.

"Join you?" Is she serious? Do the Careers actually want me in their alliance?

"Well done, genius. Now, why do we want a scrawny loser like you with us, you ask?"

Actually, I wasn't asking, but you're probably going to give me an answer anyway.

"It's because we need you." That much I guessed. "You can make traps, and you've got brains. We could use someone like that. Melody isn't exceptional at anything, Mellish is unpredictable, Titan probably doesn't even know what a brain is, Aveira and I are more hands on than anything, and no one ever has any idea what's going through Zircon's head. You are what we need."

But I'm not. It doesn't make sense. The Careers never recruit somebody just because they're clever. They recruit people who have something they need, and Ember Maloff has just told me a big fat lie – they _don't _need me. They can get by perfectly fine on their own, and they know they can. So what are they really trying to get out of me?

'You're a liar," is all I whisper in reply, and I feel her stiffen. She's as good as confirmed it. "What do you really want?"

Her eyes dart to the side. They don't wander for long, but after a quick survey of the room, there's only one person Ember Maloff could have been glancing at.

Peridot Reska.

I can't help but chuckle. Peridot is who they're after? Ah, I see – they thought getting close to me would enable them to get to Peridot. Well, good luck with that, because we're not even in an alliance. But why do they want Peridot?

Ember Maloff looks at me strangely, obviously wondering why I'm laughing. She looks on the verge of slapping me when I interrupt, saying, "No thanks, princess. I don't play games."

Well, if she's going to call me 'Gabe', I might try and rile her up too. Live a little – while I still can.

"Fine," she hisses, drawing back so our faces are a few centimetres apart and she's literally spitting at me. "But you are going to regret this. Nobody turns the Careers down. Ever."

I smirk. "I just did."

She lowers her voice to a deadly whisper. "_And gets away with it._"

District 11 – Ruse Carnegie POV

"So there I was, running away from this massive brute of a bloke, with half of our District running after us! And we get to the orchards and are coming up towards this pen with about twenty new trees growing in it, and you can see the Peacekeeper's terrified because he thinks I'm going to jump it, and then he'll have to jump it too. But at the last minute, I veer to the left and the guy keeps going, slams straight into the pen, and rams his head between the fences! And to top it all off, a couple of birds who were nesting in the trees come along and try to get it on, on top of his head!"

Tristan bursts out laughing as I finish my story with a grin. Lu sits opposite us, unimpressed as she stabs her beef with her fork and looking like she'd rather be anywhere else in the world right now.

"What happened to him?" Tristan chokes out. His plate of food had nearly gone flying everywhere during his laughing fit.

I tear off a piece of bread and chew it thoughtfully. "Last I heard, his head was being used as a breeding ground, but you can never be sure about rumours."

Chuckling again, Tristan shakes his head and goes back to his food, but I swallow the bread and frown at Lu. "Do you want to hear about the goat, the poo mountain and the orange peel?"

She just looks at me.

"What's wrong? Cat got your tongue?" I tease. Clenching her teeth, she glares moodily down at her plate.

"Oh, just ignore Lu, she's being moody today," Tristan shrugs casually. Then, in a stage whisper, adds, "I think it's her time of the month."

"Urgh!" Slamming her plate down on the floor, Lu stands up and storms off, out of the room. Tristan doesn't even glance up as he yells after her, "Can I have the rest of your chips?"

Another shriek.

"Maybe you should go check on her," I suggest. "Before she throws herself out a window or something."

Tristan winks. "She'll come back to me – they always do." I grin and look around the room to find all of the other tributes staring at us.

"Nothing to see here! Just an old married couple bickering again," I wave them away.

At that moment, Lu marches back in, grabs her plate – which she and Tristan have to fight for, because Tristan is shovelling chips into his mouth – and makes to leave again, when Tristan grabs her arm. She glares at him over her shoulder.

"Do you want to file for a divorce?" he asks innocently.

Predictably, Lu's plate of food ends up all over his head.

"Lu! That was mayonnaise! You've ruined his hair for life!" I call after her, grinning as Tristan rattles out a colourful array of curses. "Bad luck, mate. I think you might have just been rejected. Is that twice now?"

"Shut up," he grumbles, picking at the meal now coating his face. "Ugh, this is going everywhere! Tomorrow I'll be finding beetroot in my –" He catches the eye of some girl who's still staring, and mutters, "Never mind."

"You had it coming, really," I tell him kindly, tossing him a few napkins. Like that'll help. He'll be stinking of garlic for the rest of the day. "Why did you kiss her yesterday, anyway?"

"To be honest, it was a spur-of-the-moment thing I really wish I hadn't bothered doing now," Tristan sighs, dabbing delicately at his hair. "She doesn't need to hold everything I do against me!"

"Well, it was quite a… big thing," I say carefully. "If she hates you so much for what happened yesterday, why was she even sitting with us?"

"I sort of forced her," Tristan mumbles. I burst out laughing.

"Ah, I see! You're going for the 'if you can't win them over, kidnap them' method! Well, that worked out brilliantly for you. Why am I not taking tips from you?"

He ignores me. "She didn't have anyone else to sit with, anyway. So she didn't have a choice – she can't blame us."

"And yet you're the one covered in the leftovers of her lunch. Smooth," I grin.

"Yeah, well. She can't hate me forever," Tristan shrugs. He picks off a salad leaf, which is dangling from his fringe, and waves it in front of my face. "You want to help me eat all this?"

"Oh, God, no, that's nasty! You can have it all to yourself, I'm good."

"Suit yourself," Tristan says, before popping the salad leaf in his mouth, much to the horror of the girl who's still staring.

District 4 – Melody Cross POV

You might not think it, but the Careers are interesting people. They – or we, I should say – actually do have lives outside of being bloodthirsty to kill people, believe it or not.

No, I didn't believe it at first, either.

Aveira is the nicest. We get along surprisingly well, especially over lunch when the six of us sit together. We talk about our lives back in our districts, our friends and family. She's remarkably easy to talk to, and very hyper about the fact that my brother is mentoring me, because apparently her brother is mentoring her. What's up with that, anyway?

Zircon is also incredibly friendly and polite, even to Ember who isn't making an effort at all. I can stand Titan and Mellish, even though Titan acts like he's only just restraining himself from attacking me. I've no idea what's wrong with him, but I'm sure he's got it in for Mellish and I. Aveira told me that the whole scene this morning was about us, which got my attention. She didn't tell me anymore than that though, putting her finger to her lips and smiling like it was some big secret. That little action was what made me think I couldn't trust Aveira, despite how lovely she is to me. But then again, I can't trust anybody, _especially _my own alliance. We're all out to kill at the end of the day.

I know who I certainly don't trust. Ember Maloff. When you're around her, you've just got this intense feeling that she's about to stab you in the back – literally – and you can do nothing about it. She's cruel and cold and makes no effort to disguise that, which makes it scarier. If this is what she's like in training, then I dread to think how that'll reflect in the Games. I make a mental note not to ever be alone with her when the Games start.

She was on some secret mission this morning, the aim of which was to pester Gabriel Thorp, as far as I could see. It must have worked, because he looked rattled when Ember finally left him alone, but why would she waste her time doing that? There's something else there, I know there is, but I've not been informed of it.

I hate feeling like an outsider. That's how I feel now, in the Career pack. I'm in, yes, but not truly a part of it. I'm not important to their cause. What else am I unaware of? I hate thinking that they know things I don't and are choosing not to tell me. It makes me feel used, and helpless if they ever decided to betray me.

I tune in to whatever is going on at our table. Zircon is telling some funny story, and Aveira is laughing her head off with Mellish smiling in amusement beside her like he's obligated to do so. We're by far the loudest table, and frequently get a few nervous looks. Alright, so we're confident. The other tributes should try that sometimes – they might surprise themselves.

I laugh along, even thought I don't know what the story was about, and turn to see Ember's reaction – only to find her staring straight at me.

"You OK, Ember?" I ask uncertainly, my smile fading slightly.

"Brilliant," she replies. Huh, that sarcasm was subtle. "How about you?"

I fail to see where this is going, but I'm not sure I want to find out. "I'm… I'm good, Ember, thanks."

She gives me a sickly sweet smile. "Wonderful. I bet you are, getting cosy with Mellish when we've finished with training for the day."

_What?_

"Ember – I don't –"

"Don't pretend." Her voice is low, furious and urgent now. She's leaning over the table towards me, and as we're both at the end of the table, nobody will hear us unless they look our way. "I know what you two have been getting up to. Got a boyfriend at home who has no idea of this?"

What the hell is Ember on?

"I've no idea what you're talking about," I hiss back, my annoyance gradually building up. "Mellish and I are nothing more than district partners."

"Oh, yes you are. Tell me, does Aveira know?" she smirks at me.

"Does Aveira know _what?_ Ember, Aveira and Mellish are the ones getting cosy here! You've seen them! You can see them now!"

"Yes, and I'm dealing with Aveira later. But I thought I'd handle you first, and I'm telling you now, darling – back. Off."

"He's all yours if you want him! There is nothing going on, you've got to believe me!" I plead. In truth, I'm scared of what she'll do to me. I could take her on, of course, but crazy people are dangerous. "Trust me, Ember. I can barely stand the guy."

Ember narrows her eyes at me. "You'd better be telling the truth – for your sake."

I gape at her until Aveira asks Ember a question, and then Ember turns away, smirking, back to her normal self. Oh, who am I kidding? That jealous, slightly psychotic and deluded bitch is her normal self – she just hides it too well.

I don't know where Ember gets her idiotic ideas from, but those idiotic ideas could be deadly, and not just for me – for Aveira as well. Whatever games are being played here, there are always more that one of us doesn't know about. I do know one thing, though.

Ember Maloff is out for blood.

District 1 – Zircon Terric POV

"Oh… oh, no, not again… argh, why do you have to be so heavy?"

I look up from the dummy I'm swinging at to see the girl next to me struggling with handling a mace. It's one of the smaller ones on offer, but she's having a hard time lifting the thing above her hip.

"Here, let me help." Before she can protest, I've set my weapon down and moved to her side. At her confused expression, I say, "Come on, I know how to use these. I'll help you."

Eyeing me warily, the girl lets me slip the mace out of her hands. I murmur instructions as I position it for her, showing her how to swing and how to hold it so she won't dislocate her shoulder or anything. She stays silent throughout my little demonstration, rarely taking her suspicious eyes off me.

"And that's pretty much it. Simple, once you get the hang of it." I watch carefully for a reaction, but she only looks back at me. "What's your name?" Silence. "I don't bite. I promise." I flash her a grin, and she shifts her weight from one foot to the other.

"Alondra Abella," she replies finally, after some deliberation. "District 7. You?"

"I think you know who I am," I answer easily. She nearly manages not to gulp.

"Why did you help me?" Alondra asks, the mace still hanging limply in her hands by her side.

"Why not?" If she's not confused now, then there's something wrong with her. Fortunately, she is confused, because her frown only increases.

"But what do you –"

"Hang on a moment." I interrupt her mid-sentence by darting forward and grabbing the mace. She jumps back, probably thinking that I'm attacking her. I raise my eyebrows, holding up the weapon, before placing it down on the table. "You were about to drop it," I explain. "Last thing you want is a mangled foot before the Games start."

She stares at me.

"Did you want something?" I ask pleasantly. Shaking her head quickly, Alondra turns back to the table. I start a countdown in my head. _Five, four, three, two…_

"What was that all about?" she blurts out.

I smile at her. "Nothing. Just helping a fellow tribute out."

"But you're not in my alliance," Alondra points out. Ah, well spotted.

"So? I don't think my alliance need any help from me," I shrug, before sending her a grin. "Honestly, I get bored of them after a while."

She smiles before she can stop herself. "But you're a –" Alondra never finishes, but the unspoken words hang in the air. _You're a Career. You never help people out._

And it's true. In a few days, I'll be after her blood, and she'll be running away from me and the weapon I just showed her how to use. But isn't it possible to have a nice Career for once?

"Uh – nice weather we're having." This is Alondra's hasty cover up. I begin to laugh, and she smiles sheepishly.

"Yep. The grey walls… the Gamemakers stuffing their faces… this is the life," I comment. Alondra laughs, but it sounds choked at the end, like she's just stopped herself. She clears her throat, turning her gaze away again.

"Am I making you uncomfortable?" I ask as casually as if I was asking her about how her cat was.

Alondra makes a small, squeaky noise that could be a 'yes' or a 'no'. I'm hedging my bets on the former.

"Well, then. I'll leave you to… practise on your own." As I make to leave, Alondra's next words come out of nowhere.

"Thank you." Her voice is warm, even with the hint of smile in it. She's genuinely thankful that I helped her. "I'm useless with most – well, all - weapons."

"I know." Lowering my voice to a conspiratorial whisper, I lean forward and say, "I saw you at the knife station yesterday."

She blushes. "I didn't mean to do that, I'm not –"

"- very good at aiming?" I guess. "Well, at least you can use a mace now. Just don't come near me with a knife." Alondra grimaces sheepishly, but nods quickly. "See you around, Alondra."

"Yes… maybe."

District 3 – Milton Rocksham POV

Finding alliances is harder than it looks.

Well, it's hard for someone like me, who doesn't really have much to offer to an alliance on first glance. But, hello, I am good at… things! Do I need to have a flashing neon sign above my head listing my strengths and hope people will come up to me?

I waited around all day long yesterday, and nothing like that happened. It must be some sort of sign that I'm actually supposed to do something about it myself. After all, there's no way I'm surviving two seconds without an alliance.

Alright, allies. First of all, I suppose they'll have to be people I can actually stand. Because, you know, that would help. Second, it would be a good idea to find people who are capable of things I can't do. Not even the glaringly obvious talents, more like setting traps, refined reflexes, speed. Thirdly, make allies by the end of the day.

I decide my best bet is to just go around and start talking to people. I've got nothing to lose, right?

The girl from District 6 is at the climbing station, and she's struggling. Ah, good, we can both be bad at this together.

"I always hated climbing," I comment, trying to haul myself up onto a branch. They've replicated a few very realistic trees – actually, they might be real, you can never tell – and the side of a cliff. I think the climbing station takes up half of the training room.

"Oh, me too!" the District 6 girl grimaces. Then she smiles at me. "Catch me if I fall?"

"Only if you'll return the favour… and we get more than two feet off the floor," I reply, and she laughs. "Darcy, isn't it?"

She nods. "And you're… don't tell me… Milton?"

"That's right," I say, but before I can go on, Ebanie Streeter joins us, bounding easily onto our branch, then the next, and the next. We stare at her enviously.

"Have you met Milk Carton, then?" she calls down teasingly. Darcy shoots me a puzzled look as I grin. "That's what I thought he said his name was on the train. And it turns out he loves milk… in fact, he can't go a meal without having at least three glasses."

Darcy raises an eyebrow. "You know what that means, then?" She looks from me to Ebanie.

"No… what?" I ask.

"You must have been a cow in a past life."

Ebanie bursts out laughing, and I smile between them uneasily. Is there an alliance here I've intruded?

"We're only teasing, Milton," Darcy assures me. I know they were, but still – should I be here?

"Hey, are you two – you know – allies?" I ask uncertainly, as Ebanie climbs higher and out of earshot.

"Allies? Oh, no, we're not!" Her eyes widen with realisation, probably working out why I approached her in the first place. "Oh – Milton, I'm sorry, I can't –"

She's cut off by the arrival of someone else. Her brother.

"Who's this?" he asks stiffly. Alexander Nuostabus. How did I forget about him?

"No one – I was just talking," she insists, sending me an apologetic smile. I do believe that she's genuinely sorry, but I can't help feeling exasperated as nod in goodbye and cross over to the camouflage station. There are two other people there. One of the Career boys, who turns away as soon as he sees me and pretends I don't exist, and the District 11 girl. I remember her, Laurath Cavernson.

For ten minutes, she blatantly ignores me. Fair enough. However, when she's nearly done painting herself as a gigantic badger or something, she turns to me and snaps, "What do you want?"

Well, somebody woke up on the wrong side of bed this morning.

"Not much, just came to introduce myself." She stares at me like I'm crazy, but I plough on anyway. "I'm Milton Rocksham." I stick out my hand for her to shake. I've no idea why, but I might as well just go with it now.

"And I'm leaving," Laurath responds coolly, turning on her heel and stalking away.

Short-lived, but no doubt a failure.

I sigh as I plonk down on a hard chair, which has popped up out of nowhere. I did say finding alliances was harder than it looked, and now I'm proving myself right.

"Do you need any help with camouflaging?"

I look up at the person who's just spoken, and smile. This could be an opportunity. I don't need any help with camouflaging, I happen to be quite good at it, but it can't hurt to say yes.

"That would be great, thanks."

District 12 – Jebadiah D'Ouvoir

I've been making a point to avoid Lennox ever since the train to the Capitol. I mean, she called me a squirrel and a cripple. Granted, I'm both of those things, but you don't just come out and say it like that. Especially the latter one. I've sort of learnt that Lennox is a bit strange, though. She has spent the past two days doing two things: avoiding people, and watching them. It's a little unnerving to turn around and catch her eyes locked on you, and she doesn't even try to hide it.

The other tributes, on the other hand, I don't have so much of a problem with. I've gotten nothing but a few either scathing or sympathetic looks from a few. It's interesting to see what everyone can do, because this is the first chance we've had to size each other up, and some of the things that have been revealed are surprising. One thing is for sure: nobody is who they appeared to be during the reapings and the chariot rides.

Take the siblings from District 6, for example. There were another pair like them years ago, according to Clem, but they had both died in their heroic attempts to save each other. These, on the other hand, are almost cold towards each other, as if they wouldn't care very much if one of them died. It's got to be an act, because they're _brother and sister._ They must be pretending to dislike each other, because otherwise it'll be stupidly obvious that they are each other's weaknesses.

Then there's Hamlet Simmons from District 9. He's fifteen, pretty tall as well, but he's so naïve. I know so much more than him about how bloody unfair the world can be, and I'm three years younger. He tends to come out with the weirdest things, and I think he just completely disregards what his stylist says and tells him to wear, and he doesn't get upset when someone insults him. If someone called me a cripple, they'd be lying on the floor before they had a chance to blink. But if someone insults Hamlet – and believe me, they have, mostly a few of the Careers – he doesn't even acknowledge them. It's admirable, really.

I think it's why I'm allied with him.

Him and Birch Laurel, that is. They're district partners, and were allies before they took me on. Brave of them to do that, really, because I'll only slow them down, but Birch has said that she'll run away from the Cornucopia with me hostage on her back if she has to.

I _think _that's a good thing.

So my allies wouldn't be first choice for most people, but I like them. I genuinely do, and I can't say that about many people. They just treat me normally, and they don't really have a care in the world about training. It's nice to be around people who aren't focused entirely on the Games, even if that's what we should be focused on, around the clock. But it gets tiring. The three of us don't stand a chance anyway – we've already agreed on that. Why dwell on false hope? We've decided that our best chance is to hide out in a cave, or somewhere, until either somebody finds us or we're forced closer to the other tributes by the Gamemakers. It's not such a bad plan when you think of it. We could even make it into the final ten if we find a really good hiding place.

That's another reason I'm glad we get along. Hamlet and Birch are the only people I'll be around in the Games, the two I'll spend my last days with, however few or many those days are. Even though we're so different, them both being more quiet and me definitely louder than them put together and multiplied by ten, I can almost pretend I'm with Clem, who didn't judge me at all.

Clem. I miss her, I really do. Somehow, it feels good to say that. To have someone that I'll miss. My mum will either be too drunk or too high to switch on the TV to see me get killed, but Clem will care. I can count on her.

I need to count on anybody I can at the moment.


	6. Training: Day 3

**AN: So I've been slapped on the hand several times for having this story, and apparently having a life outside of fanfiction means I'm ignoring people. News to me! I've put everything on my profile and I'm really not sure what else I'm supposed to do to improve this unbelievably sinful story. So I really hope that I don't "humiliate myself" even further, as I've apparently been doing. I'd rant a bit more, but I have better things to do. **

**Hey! Long time no see. As I said before, I do have a life outside fanfiction, and I've been away on holiday for a while. So I'm really sorry about the wait, but good news is, 3 more chapters are coming tomorrow after school. Yep, I'm back at school, but hopefully that won't slow things down. Again, THANK YOU for all your reviews and support, it's much appreciated, and thanks for being patient!**

**Disclaimer: I've just realised I haven't done one yet. Heh... oops. I own nothing except my own writing.**

* * *

><p><span>District 1 - Ember Maloff POV<span>

Blinking against the glaring rays of the sun, I rub my eyes and open them gradually, allowing them to adjust to the bright room greeting me. Stretching, I yawn delicately and let my arms flop my sides, wondering what today is. It's not the morning we go into the arena, not yet, and I don't think it's the day of the interviews either…

It's the third day of training, and also the day of our private sessions with the Gamemakers.

Smiling, I hop out of bed – not even groaning at the time the fancy clock on my bedside displays – and make a beeline for the shower. The private sessions! After everybody watches the training scores roll by this evening, any doubts anyone had about me will be wiped away. I'll be the one to fear, and I'll be the one hauling in the sponsors. Yes, today is a very good day.

Scrubbing my body with every type of gel the shower will supply until it's raw, I turn up the heat of the water and let the silky water wash over me, lifting my face up to it despite the fact that it's practically scalding. It's peaceful in here. If you can get past the faint whirring of so much technology and the overpowering scent of all the soaps and gels and perfumes, and the competition waiting outside the door to my room and the Capitol expecting a show, it _is _peaceful.

If you can get over all that.

Drying off quickly, I dress in the clothes that have been laid out for me and scoop my hair into a bun, with a few select tendrils hanging down. Well, I might as well try and do something special if I'm going to steal the show with the training scores today. And then again in the interviews, repeatedly in the Games, and finally victory…

Everybody else is there before me. Even the District 8 boy, who has stubbornly slept in and been the last one to stagger in the last two mornings, is there. Dead on his feet and probably not aware that he's trying to eat the plate and not the food on it, but still there.

"All done prettying yourself up?" Mellish yawns as I plop down beside him.

I send him a simpering smile. Melody rolls her eyes, as Aveira glares, Titan makes a face like he's struggling not to laugh, and Zircon doesn't pay attention. Everything's normal here, I see.

"So, how are we all feeling about this afternoon?" I ask brightly, reaching for a slice of toast. They glance at each other.

"Probably not as excited as you are," Zircon answers, eyes widening at the sight of me actually eating breakfast for once.

"Oh, like you can talk, Mr Smiley Pants!" I beam.

Zircon raises his eyebrows. "Original," he remarks drily. I ignore him.

"I'm sure we'll all steal the show, as usual, Ember," Aveira says. I smile at her.

"Yes… all of us." I cast a pointed glance at Melody.

"What? You don't think I can do as well as the rest of you?" Melody glares around the table. I smirk.

"Ember didn't say that, Melody –" Aveira tries to cut in.

"I'll show you," Melody snaps. "Let's see who has the highest training score this evening, shall we?"

"Got a bee in your bonnet, Fish Girl?" I ask innocently.

"Wow, Ember. You really need to come up with better nicknames," Titan says. Surprised, I frown at him – Titan isn't exactly a guy of many words.

"And you need to come up with a better personality," I retort. Unfortunately, I don't think he's too affected by the insult.

"Guys, can we please just have a normal conversation for once without sniping at each other?" Zircon suggests, looking highly unimpressed with the conversation we've just been having.

Too late for that, Zircon. Our alliance is already making out to be a mini soap opera in itself.

"Thank you, Zircon," Aveira sighs. "Mellish? You OK?"

I turn to Mellish, who is staring over Titan's shoulder at the wall. Oh, no, he's not looking at the wall. Three people I vaguely recognise are sat cross-legged on the floor, eating and chatting animatedly. The District 7 girl I saw Zircon speaking to yesterday, her district partner, and… somebody else.

"Who's the newest addition?" I ask Aveira.

"Milton Rocksham," she replies. "I think they're the last alliance to form."

I snort. "What losers. They don't stand a chance. We'll flatten them."

"I don't know… there's something about the Abella girl. I wouldn't want to get on her bad side," Zircon says, following Mellish's gaze.

"Just because you were getting all cosy with her yesterday," I scoff at him. Zircon flushes. I've never seen him uncomfortable before.

"Going for the older girls, are we?" Titan smirks.

"I was just talking to her," Zircon huffs. "Figuring out the enemy." Finally, I realise how out of his depth he feels among us. He's a master at hiding it, but we're all much older than him, and not really on the same wavelength. Sometimes, he seems genuinely… nice.

Good Lord. I do not need to deal with another Melody.

"Well, I suppose we'll see what everybody's made of when the Games start," Aveira says. "Until then, we can only guess."

District 5 – Peridot Reska POV

My mentor, Ivi Hemlock, is sitting opposite me, practically drowning in the chair she's sitting in. She's so tiny, it's almost funny. And, at sixteen, she's younger than me, which is hard to believe. Ivi won the Games a few years ago, when she was thirteen, and now she's mentoring me, when she should be eligible for the reaping for this year and another two years. It's crazy.

Ivi is beautiful, in a sort of pixie way. She reminds me of Arie back home, with her red hair and petite stature. Arie and Hal… what are they doing right now? Have they been thinking about me? I'm sure they have, even if they are the only ones to do so. I wonder vaguely what they'll do if I die. If Arie will try and block everything out by joking around, if Hal will break down… those are just the reactions I predict. One thing I'm sure of. If I do die, it won't be at the hands of the Careers.

It won't.

"Er – Ivi?" I ask tentatively, and she smiles at me. She always seems a bit distant, like she's somewhere else, seeing something else. It doesn't take a genius to figure out what she's seeing. "How did you win your Games?"

Ivi sighs, brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes. "I was wondering when you'd ask me that."

Suddenly, I regret asking. Surely she doesn't want to talk to me about what she saw, what she let happen – and worst of all, what she did. She must still have nightmares. I would, if I was her… and now I'm asking her to tell me all about it, when there's a very high possibility I'll… well. I know the possibility, at any rate. I've worked it out in a percentage, decimal and fraction in my head, including how far I think everyone else will go.

It doesn't look very good so far.

"Peridot, you're a clever girl," Ivi says, and I blush. Arie constantly calls me the smartest person in our district ("and possibly the whole of Panem!"), which is quite enough praise for me. "How do you think I won? Not by strength, obviously."

She laughs, which makes me laugh along with her. "Erm – I don't – don't really know," I stutter.

Ivi rolls her eyes. "Oh, Peridot. You can act dumb around everyone else, but not me. I know everything about acting."

"Acting… is that how you won?"

Ivi nods.

"Oh… you pretended to be someone you weren't, and then flipped that around," I guessed, spurred on by Ivi's nodding. "That confused everyone else, or who was left. They underestimated you. Wait, even the Careers?"

"The Careers don't act, they show off. They knew nothing about the game I was playing. Besides, when it got near to the end of the Games, there was only one Career left for me to beat." Ivi's eyes glaze over, as memories come flooding back to her. I shift uncomfortably. "It came down to us and two others. There was… a flood. Of lava. The Gamemakers had the volcano the arena was based around erupt, and we were sent scattering, having no choice but to run or be swallowed by the lava." She smiles sadly. "I won because I was the best long-distance runner."

"Do you think they'll be anything like that in the arena this year?" I ask quietly.

"They haven't pulled a trick like that since my Games," Ivi replies, "so I would say there's a high possibility, yes. Something like that can wipe out ten tributes easily." She sighs heavily. "But you never know what they're saving for the Quarter Quell."

"What was it like?" I'm surprising myself, surging ahead with these questions instead of waiting for Ivi to initiate conversation like I'd usually do. But Ivi doesn't seem to mind. "What do I have to expect?"

Ivi examines an apple, before taking a small bite of it. "Expect to be surprised. Expect to be killed – it keeps you on your toes. Oh, always be on your toes. Don't relax for a second. And don't rely on weapons or strength. Use what you've got and use what you've been practising."

"In training?"

"No. What you've been practising all your life."

We sit in silence for a few minutes, picking at our breakfast.

"So you're saying I should use my brains?" I ask finally. "And act?"

Ivi's eyes rake over me. Is she weighing up the chances of me making it to the final eight? I try to think, and I remember that only one District 5 tribute has made it to the final eight in the last few years. During Ivi's first Games as a mentor, she was fourteen. Fourteen and trying to teach two kids how to survive in an arena full of people who want you dead. Fourteen and trying not to get attached to them. Fourteen and watching them die on a TV screen.

I can't imagine coping with that.

"Honey, you've been doing both for a long time."

District 8 – Tristan Thorin POV

"So, Lu. Lulu. Lupine. Lu-_pine_ tree. Ludicrous. Lulu Laugh-a-lot."

"Tristan."

"Ahem. Yes, so, I was thinking about alliances, and I thought Ruse would be a great addition."

Lu turns to me, one hand on her hip, and stares at me. "Tristan, I'm not even in your alliance. It's just you, remember?"

"What? What do you mean? Of course you're in my alliance, Lulu Bear!" Under he glare, I relent and say, "Lu, I mean."

She sighs, striking wood against wood harder than she needs to. She's been trying to make a fire for the last half an hour, and she's not really getting very far. "Tristan. Don't make me go through this with you again. We. Are. Not. Allies."

"Sure we are! Oh, come on, Lu. Don't break my heart like this!" I beg overdramatically.

Lu glances at me, clearly unimpressed. She strikes the wood again, maybe imagining my face burning in those flames. I suppose it's a possibility she hasn't forgotten yesterday, and the lunch incident. Oh, yes, and the day before, when I kissed her completely randomly. Is she just one of those annoying people who won't let little things like that drop? Live and let live, I say.

"Come on, Lu. We clicked on the train, I swear we did!"

"Tristan. You've humiliated me twice in as many days. Twice! And you really expect me to ally with you?" she asks, her voice getting slightly hysterical.

"Well… yes?" Before she can completely fly off the handle – again – I hastily add, "Lu, you know me and Ruse were just teasing you yesterday."

"In front of everyone."

"I suppose."

"And you kissed me!"

"Ah, yes, there was that."

"_In front of everyone!"_

I grin sheepishly.

"God, you're impossible, Tristan Thorin!"

"Don't you impossibly charming? Entrancing? Sexy beyond –"

"_Tristan."_

I back off immediately, because my name has come out as more of a growl. Like, from a feral animal. Pretty wisely, I shut up.

Lu sighs once more, and says, "Why can't you and Ruse be in an alliance by yourself? And leave me be?" She puts emphasis on the last three words, like that would mean anything to me.

"Oh, we already are in an alliance. I just thought I'd pretend to ask your opinion so it looked like we were including you. It was very thoughtful of me, really."

The corner of her mouth twitches.

"But you're not including me anyway," she insists. "Because I have nothing to do with you."

"Lu!" I place my hand over my heart, pretending to be wounded. "I'm hurt!"

She pats my arm consolingly. "It's nothing against you personally. It's only against your… verbal diarrhoea."

For once, I'm speechless.

Apparently, Lu's given up hope on starting the fire, because she throws the sticks down in a huff and moves swiftly on to setting traps. Or maybe she's just fed up of me, because she sighs very heavily when she sees me follow her.

I'm beginning to think there's something wrong with her lungs. She's letting out far too much air.

"Tristan!" It's not Lu shouting at me this time, it's Ruse. He makes his way over to us – there's a spring in his step, sort of like he's skipping – and grins easily at Lu. "Hello, there. How are you this morning?"

Lu stares at him, shocked into silence by his politeness after speaking to me. Wait. Does that imply that I'm not polite? "I – I'm fine, thanks for asking."

"Great! Well, I might see at lunch, but if I don't, good luck with the private sessions. Tristan, I think you've traumatised the poor girl enough recently. Come help me with… erm, something." Ruse sort of salutes in goodbye to Lu, and leads me away.

"Ruse! What was that? I almost had her!" I complain, folding my arms stubbornly like a whiny kid.

"She was this close to snapping your neck in half." Ruse creates a tiny space between his thumb and forefinger, making me shudder. "Ah, just let your man Ruse deal with this. Clearly, you need my expertise."

"Your expertise? I can handle this perfectly well –"

"No, you can't, mate. You really can't. Look, the solution is simple. It's what we were saying yesterday at lunch." Ruse shakes his head at my blank expression. "'If you can't win them over, kidnap them'. Ring any bells?"

It takes a moment to get what he means. Then a grin spreads across my face. "Man, I knew there was a reason I kept you around!"

District 6 – Alexander Nuostabus POV

"Alex, _please _can we stop now?"

I glance at my sister, bent almost double, clutching her sides and breathing hard.

"No. Keep running."

Darcy throws a hateful look at the running track we're standing next to, sighs, and takes off again. We've been at this for nearly a full hour. She kills another second or so every time she crosses the finish line, but it's not enough. It's never going to be enough, but it's worth trying anyway. If Darcy, for whatever reason, finds herself unarmed or unable to defend herself with weapons, she needs to be able to get away. To run.

Even if it means leaving me behind.

She wasn't a bad runner before, but you have to be better than 'not bad' to get anywhere in the Hunger Games. I'm not entirely sure why I'm so bent on her increasing her speed above anything else, in our final hours of training. Maybe it's something to do with the fact that I'm so obsessed with running. I've been running away from everything my whole life. This is the only time that skill is ever going to be useful.

I watch my sister sprint around the track, overtaking a Career the same size as her. She's trying so hard to improve, to impress _me. _Could I run away from her? If it came down to it, would I be able to? I've always thought that if either of us ever ran away from something in that arena, it would be Darcy, running away from me to save herself. Not by choice, but because I'd force her, somehow. But what she was in my position? I've never thought about that possibility. Darcy sacrificing herself for me. Why would she do that? I suppose she might, as unlikely as it seems. We're more like reluctant acquaintances than siblings, but there's always that chance… always that chance…

In which case, I'm a hypocrite, training her to run faster. Training her to run away. Because if I was forced to choose between running away and helping my sister, even if it resulted in both of us getting killed, I knew which one I would choose.

And it didn't involve a lot of running.

"Alright, that's enough!" I call to her, just before she finishes. Glancing up at me in surprise, Darcy forgets to look where she's going and trips over a stray rock, landing flat on her face.

Hopeless.

"I might just leave you to die in the wild the day after tomorrow," I comment casually, holding out a grudging hand to help her up. "I'm not so sure I want you watching my back after all."

Darcy sticks her tongue out at me. I almost smile.

"Alex, what are we going to do?"

The question throws me. I raise my eyebrows, and reply with, "I don't know what you mean."

"In the Games. What are we going to do?"

She sounds so scared and hopeful and innocent and naïve, so different from how she usually is, around her friends and everybody else. Even around Mum and Dad. She's so guarded, almost more guarded than me. She's so pitiful, in those few words, that I almost crack.

Almost.

"Survive. Anymore questions?"

She must have also been hiding a brain under those guards, because she sighs and stays silent.

"Start running again."

"_What?"_

"Now. Go!"

Staring at me, Darcy doesn't make a move. I'm about to make her move when she actually folds her arms tightly and plants herself where she's stood, smirking.

"What are you doing? I told you to start running! Your speed is still awful. You're like a sloth stuck in treacle, and not even half as graceful."

"I don't feel like running," she shrugs. "I'm tired."

"_Tired? _Darcy, if you're tired in the Games, you're going to –"

"Get killed, tortured, captured, taken hostage, taken by surprise, starve… yeah. You've told me. Look, can we just do something… a bit less intense, for the last few hours? Please? I'm ready to collapse right here, and if snoring is all I can show the Gamemakers in the private sessions, my guess is that my score isn't going to be up there among the best."

Wait. Did she just call me intense?

"Hurry up and make your decision, before I start describing the scrapbook Morgan has compiled all about you."

"Fine!" I snap. I know all about Darcy's friend's stalker-like obsession over me, and have no wish to hear it described to me in great detail.

Darcy beams. "Right, to the camouflage station! Do you think they have the right colours to paint Tabitha, the old stray cat on our street?"

Groaning, I trudge after my sister, grumbling all the way. If Darcy so much as starts painting cat's whiskers, I'm going to slit the bloody painted cat's painted throat.

District 11 – Laurath Cavernson POV

I watch the District 6 pair at the running track. They've been at it for nearly an hour now, the brother timing his sister as she goes round and round, again and again. He's almost obsessive about it. I wonder why? She's not even a very good runner. Granted, she has improved in that hour – quite a lot, it has to be said – but in my opinion, it's wasted time.

As they wander away, I go back to focusing on what I was doing before. Throwing knives. Well, if you're good at something, might as well strengthen that skill. It's kind of funny how frantic everyone is this morning. They're all trying to cram in stuff they didn't bother thinking about the past two days, as if it'll actually help them. And then there are the usual odd ones out who have apparently got it all sorted out and can afford to stand around and chat, or intimidate everyone else. Like they're so clever.

Unfortunately, they'll probably be the ones with the highest training scores.

I'm vaguely aware of someone coming up behind me. I carry on with what I'm doing, lodging the knives as deep as I can into the trunk of an innocent tree, convinced they'll leave when they get bored. Five minutes later, I turn around and yes; someone is still there, looking at me like I've got dog crap on my face. Wow. I must be _that _interesting.

I can't quite remember his name, but I know his face – or more, his eyes. It's his eyes that stick out to me, weird as that sounds. When you read books and they describe seeing some sort of emotion in somebody's eyes, well, that's not actually true in real life. They're just eyes. But I swear this boy's eyes are like the windows to his soul or something. You can see everything in them. And that is pretty freaky, if nothing else.

"Yes?" I say impatiently.

"I was just watching you. You can carry on if you like," he shrugs, not moving. Oh, now I remember who he is. He's that boy from District 9, the one whose name starts with 'Ham'.

"Erm, no thanks. I don't like being watched while I'm trying to do this, Ham-Boy," I state bluntly.

"Ham-Boy?" he frowns. "It's Hamlet."

"Er – OK, whatever you say. But can I please just have some space?" I make a gesture with my hands like I'm ushering him away.

Hamlet shoves his hands in his pocket. "You know, the tree doesn't look very nice with a knife sticking out of it."

What the hell?

"Hamlet, I really don't think that's your main concern right now," I sigh, frustrated that he won't leave me alone. "In a few days, these tributes are going to be the ones with knives sticking out of them."

Harsh, but he probably needs reminding what game he's in.

Hamlet glances from me, to the tree, and back to me again. Or more specifically, the knife in my hand.

"Would you kill someone with that?" he asks me innocently.

Seriously, does this kid not have anything better to do?

"Nah, I thought I'd just let everyone attack me as they wished. It's all a game of chance, anyway." I turn around and send the knife flying through the air, landing neatly in the middle of the trunk. Out of the corner of my eye, Hamlet actually winces.

"Do you like trees or something?" I surprise myself by initiating conversation, instead of ignoring him until he walks away.

Hamlet shrugs. "I like nature, I guess. We're only training – it's not right to see a healthy tree damaged like that in training."

Correction: _I'm _training. You are just standing there, complaining about trees.

I don't voice this, but it's pretty tempting to. "Alright. I'll stop hurting the tree."

Retrieving the knife, I return to where Hamlet is still stood, seemingly rooted in his spot.

"Are you all done with your training, then?" I ask, because it seems rude to move on and leave him standing there. He was just concerned about the tree, and not stalking me, after all.

"There's not much left for me to do," Hamlet replies. "You can only spend so much time at the camouflage and plant stations, and there isn't an area for medicine."

"Medicine?"

"My mother owns an apothecary," he explains. Apothecary… oh, yes. Remedies and all that. "She says her business helps protect me from the 'bad side' of our district. But I don't really know what the bad side is."

I bet he doesn't. "Hamlet, do you… have many friends?" I ask tentatively.

"Well, there's Edison, I suppose."

"Edison? With a name like that, he sounds like he could be your brother. Your dad?"

Hamlet shakes his head. "My father's dead. I don't remember him."

Way to put your foot in things, Laurath.

"No, Edison doesn't live anywhere. Just in nature. I don't think he knows what he's saying most of the time, but he can be good company when he wants to be."

Oh. So Hamlet's only friend is a homeless drunk guy called Edison. Somehow, it figures.

"Hamlet, don't take this the wrong way," I begin, "but when the Games start, you're going to have to toughen up. None of these people are as… harmless… as Edison, and it's going to be –"

"I know what it's going to be like." Hamlet's eyes harden, something that doesn't suit him at all. "I'm not stupid."

I realise that "Could have fooled me" doesn't even come to mind.

District 2 – Titan Ashes POV

We're standing at the edge of the room in a cluster, Aveira, Zircon, Ember, Melody and I. From across the room, Mellish catches Aveira's eye and she nods to him. He makes his way across.

"So, how are we going to play this?" Aveira asks. "You know we won't have time to talk tomorrow. Cade says they practically keep you hostage in preparation for the interviews."

Melody nods. "Yeah, that's the same thing Matthew said."

"I reckon we should lie low," Zircon says. "Nobody expects that from us."

"Lie low?" Ember snorts. "Are you joking? We're Careers, Zircon. 'Lying low' is just boring, and you know what happens when the Games get boring? The Gamemakers launch an avalanche or take away all the water and force everyone together."

"I would have thought you'd consider that a good thing," Melody says lightly. "All those people to kill in one place."

Ember shoots her a glare.

"We need to claim the Cornucopia," Mellish says. "Give ourselves an advantage."

"That could make us vulnerable." Aveira chews her nail, thinking it through. "The Cornucopia is always in a really open space. We can't fight long distance – that's our only weakness. Up close, we could probably take out a whole gang on tributes, sure. But if there was someone with a bow and arrow, in a tree, we'd never see them coming. They could pick us off one by one, and by the time we'd run to shelter, half of us could be dead."

"Nobody this year is very good with a bow and arrow, Aveira," Mellish points out. "Not exceptionally good, anyway. I say we go for the Cornucopia. We're strong enough."

Ember nods. "It's settled then."

Aveira sighs – she must be used to getting her way – and shrugs, relenting. "What about everyone else? What are we going to do about them?"

"Kill them?" I suggest drily, raising a short laugh from Mellish. He shuts up immediately, uncomfortable under my glare.

"Well, yes, I know that," Aveira huffs, "but how? Are we going to pick a few off, and wait until the Gamemakers force us together to wipe as many out as possible? Or are we going to hunt everyone down?"

"Depends on how big the arena is," Zircon muses. "We should be able to get a good head start in the bloodbath. As long as no one slips up."

Eyes flicker around nervously. We're all aware of the subtle threat to all six of us in those words. Mess up, and you'll be messed with.

"Anything to say, Melody?" The girl jumps when I address her, eyeing her coldly. She wasn't paying attention at all.

"Er – nope. I think I'm good."

Melody isn't cut out for this. The Careers, I mean. But she seems to get along well with Aveira, who would probably be out for blood if we cast her out. Ember and Melody just plain hate each other, and I'm not the biggest fan of District 4, but at least Mellish is liked by everyone else besides me. Why does Melody stick with us?

If she's hoping for protection, then she's going to get the shock of her life in that arena.

"What about Peridot?" Zircon asks finally.

Ember sighs heavily.

"I don't even know why you wanted her in the first place," Aveira chuckles.

"What? What's all this about Peridot?" Melody asks. She's so out of the loop.

"Ember here wanted to recruit her," Aveira tells her new best friend.

"I heard that she had brains!" Ember protested. "I think she's supposed to be a genius, or something."

"Or something?" I echo, raising a cool eyebrow. "You wanted the genius of District 5, and you didn't even know what you wanted her for?"

Aveira laughs, and Ember throws me a filthy look.

"I did! I wanted her for… clever things," Ember finishes lamely, and Melody grins. "Oh, you know what I mean! Stuff we can't do. Booby-trapping the camp, figuring out how the arena works if there's some motive behind the Gamemakers' tricks, and all that."

"And you really thought she was going to work for us? Through her district partner?" Zircon grins, shaking his head. "You're an idiot, Ember."

Eyes flashing, Ember starts to retort with, "I thought we could threaten or blackmail her –" when she's interrupted.

Someone screams.

District 7 – Katriel Keen POV

"So what do you think of the others, Katriel?"

I glance up at Alondra, preoccupied with her painting. Well, camouflage, technically, but she probably wouldn't have blended in against anything but a rainbow.

I shrug. "I don't know. They're all the same every year, aren't they?"

Laughing, Alondra makes a face and says, "I suppose. But the Careers don't seem as strong as they usually are. I think something's going on with them, but I don't know what. It just seems like something small could break them and make them turn against each other."

When did Alondra notice all of this? "Oh… I see," I reply, even though I don't see at all. "Why do you say that?"

"I was talking to Zircon yesterday, and – don't look at me like that, it was more like he was talking _at _me – and I think he's bored with the Careers already. If they lose him, they're one down. But why would he be bored with them? Because there's some sort of drama going on, and he's the only one not involved."

"Wow. You've thought about this a lot," I observe.

"It was keeping me up all night," Alondra grimaces. "But if they are so close to breaking up already, that could be good for us. Even better if they turn against each other and end up killing each other off."

"You don't actually think we have a chance, do you?" I frown. If anybody wins, I want it to be Alondra, not me, not Milton, not anybody else. She's been lovely to me, when I genuinely thought nobody would. I think I would trust her with my life.

Alondra grins. "You're such a pessimist, Katriel. I'd never have guessed it of you."

"AAAAH!"

Our heads whip round to the source of the noise. Who screamed?

Laurath Cavernson.

She's standing next to the sword station, clutching her arm and screaming her head off. I'm confused for a moment, because she must have got a small cut or something and acting over the top isn't really Laurath's style. But then I see it's more than a small cut. It's a great long gash all the way from her elbow to her wrist.

Everyone crowds around her. Can't they see that she needs space? Alondra and I venture closer anyway, having to pass the knife station on the way. We've been avoiding it ever since Alondra's incident two days ago. Still, the instructor glares at Alondra as we pass.

Laurath's screaming has died down, but she's shouting now. It's not until we get closer, wedged in between the pair from District 10, that I realise she's shouting _at _somebody. The rest of us have formed a circle around Laurath, and I can see clearly now who has caused her tantrum.

Ebanie Streeter.

Until now, Ebanie's stayed out of the spotlight. As far as I know, she hasn't gained any allies, and nobody really knows much about her. But there's no doubt she's going to be the gossip at lunchtime.

"You _bitch!" _Laurath is shrieking at Ebanie, who looks horrified. I don't blame her. "Look what you did to me!"

I haven't spoken to Laurath before – she's never approached me, and I have Alondra and Milton – but she isn't doing herself proud right now. Admittedly, she looks like she'll last longer in the Games than Ebanie, but you don't want to be making unnecessary enemies here. If Ebanie allies with somebody who is a threat…

"I didn't – I'm sorry, I'm really sorry, Laurath –" Ebanie stammers, looking on the edge of tears.

The wound in Laurath's arm looks bad. Really, really bad. She's losing a lot of blood and already looking quite pale. They must have been practising with swords when Ebanie lost focus, or did some move spectacularly wrong, and accidentally cut this awful gash in Laurath's arm. And Laurath doesn't seem like the forgiving type. People rush in and begin to bandage her up – of course you can't have a tribute dying from blood loss before the Games begin, it would be the biggest inconvenience – but she resists, trying to get to Ebanie. Does she think she'll be able to get away with attacking her? Ebanie is trying to get away, but the crowd prevents her from escaping.

"Look what you did!" Laurath repeats, rage filling her voice as she practically spits at Ebanie.

"I'm sorry!" Ebanie cries, and I think she really means it. "I didn't mean to! Laurath, I'm so sorry!"

Laurath isn't listening anymore. They're nearly sitting on her to stop her struggling so they can get this bandage on her arm, but that doesn't stop her yelling over Ebanie. She's throwing insults and threats, and everyone else is either staring with disbelieving eyes, snickering, or making bets within their alliance on which girl will kill the other first.

This goes on until we're called for lunch, and the instructors have to almost push us out of the door. Ebanie and Laurath stay behind.

"That was intense," Alondra breathes, as Milton joins us on the way out.

I nod grimly. I can't help feeling sorry for Ebanie. Laurath isn't going to let this go, and as far as everybody else is concerned, Ebanie is a dead girl walking.

District 3 – Ebanie Streeter POV

I didn't mean to do it.

I really didn't. I was only at the sword station to practise, like everybody else. Not cut off someone's arm and gain a lifelong enemy.

Lifelong? Oh, who am I kidding? My life wasn't very long before – now it's just pathetic.

I've never been very good with weapons. That much is obvious to everyone now, but I've never had much experience with them. It's not a priority in District 3, which seems like a bit of an error to me, seeing as we're sandwiched between two Career districts.

I thought I was getting better with swords. Honestly, I was actually proud of myself. I've got several important moves down, and though I'm definitely better at using a knife because it's just easier and anyone can use one, I was pleased with the progress I'd made after slaving away at that station for nearly two and a half solid days.

Until I nearly chopped someone else's limb off.

I was attempting a difficult move I hadn't dared before. Let's face it, I'm still a beginner here. There are going to be things I can't do: like this particular move, for example. But it doesn't matter now whether it was an advanced manoeuvre or the easiest trick in the book, because it still condemned me. I would have stood a chance if I'd kept going like I had been doing and surprised everyone by proving myself to be a threat in the arena.

Keep my head down, mind my own business, don't draw attention to myself and keep out of everyone else's way. That had been my mentor, Mayber Etta's advice. Mayber is clever, that's how she won her Games, and so I trusted her on this. I think I made the right choice as well, because while that strategy isn't what I'd usually go for, that doesn't mean it's a bad thing.

And it was working for me. I mean, who needs allies when you have the element of surprise up your sleeve? It was better not to draw attention to yourself anyway. The pair from District 10 who'd become an unofficial couple overnight were targets. The loud jokers from 8 and 11 were targets. The girl who'd somehow lodged a knife in one of the instructor's thighs was a target. I wasn't a target. I was dead set on keeping my strengths to myself and making it through to the final eight, at least.

And then it all went out the window.

Now Laurath is out for my blood. She wants me dead, surely. Well, she wanted me dead anyway, but that was along with everyone else. Now she just wants to make sure I'm even more dead, or something. Which translates into, '_Ebanie Streeter really fucked up this time'._ Now the rest of the tributes know me as 'the girl who is so bad at sword fighting she cut someone's arm' or 'the girl Laurath Cavernson is out to get, so let's just leave them to it'. I think I'd prefer the latter.

Or not being hated at all.

The really devastating part is the 'know me' part. I don't want people to know me as anything! I want them to forget about me, know nothing about how I work. Make my job easier. But now they're going to be keeping a special eye on me, because I drew attention to myself, which is exactly what Mayber told me not to do.

I swear I have a habit of unintentionally disobeying orders.

I'm standing in the training room with Laurath and the people who are fussing around her, the rest of the tributes having filed out. The invalid is sending me evils from across the room. Maybe now is the time to start praying and asking for forgiveness for all the sins I've committed and long since forgotten about.

When they're done with Laurath, the doctors – because that's what they must be – pack up and clear out, shooting me a glance as they pass. Is that sympathy in their expressions? Oh, God, even they think I'm deader than a strangled goose which has been slow-cooked for six hours.

I'd intended to apologise again to Laurath and make a hasty exit, but as soon as I look at her, it's obvious I'm not going to be that lucky.

"So. The quiet girl has a temper," Laurath purrs, cradling her bandaged arm. I look round in curiosity, then turn bright red. Oh! The quiet girl is me. I must not be used to being called 'quiet'.

"I don't have a temper. I wasn't taking anything out on you – I just, my hand slipped, or something…" I trail off uncertainly, because Laurath's cold smirk hasn't left her face.

"Is that right?" _Rhetorical question, Ebanie, _I think firmly, because otherwise it's highly likely I'll try and answer it.

Laurath walks closer, slowly. I'm reminded vaguely of a tiger stalking its prey.

"I'm really hungry – I really must be going –"

"You're not going anywhere until you've heard me out." Her voice is suddenly harsh and cuts through me like a knife. Or a sword. How ironic.

She's standing opposite me now. Instinctively, I try to inch back.

"What you did today was a mistake," Laurath hisses. "What if this arm –" she points to it, just in case I've forgotten – "means my death in the Games, hm? Oh, I suppose it could get infected… cut off… make me have less control in this hand. What if that happened, Ebanie? What if I was holding a knife and it suddenly slipped while I was holding it a bit too close to _someone's _heart, or throat…?"

I'm not Sherlock Holmes, but I think I'm safe in guessing that _someone _means _Ebanie._

Laurath leans back, smiling just slightly. Why haven't the Careers taken this girl on yet? "Think about it," she says, "and watch your back."

She stalks from the room without another look at me, and I can't help being glad as I breathe out a long breath I didn't know I'd been holding.

Because if that was me making my dramatic exit, I'd probably trip over some air.

District 9 – Birch Laurel POV

"I feel bad for Ebanie, but at least that gets one tribute off our backs," Jay says, sitting down with his food at lunchtime.

I smile weakly as Jay tears a chunk of meat off a chicken leg, obviously unaffected by what just happened. I nearly went in and tried to defend Ebanie, before remembering that she wasn't my ally and _I wasn't supposed to care. _

"I mean, I had no idea Laurath was that scary," Jay goes on. "I'm so glad I'm not in Ebanie's position. I mean, she had it coming, really, but don't you think Laurath overreacted?"

I give the occasional nod and grunt of agreement as Jay rattles on, not really listening to him. Given that Hamlet and I aren't big talkers, Jay usually has to make up for both of us, and this gives us barely a moment of silence. He could probably talk for the whole of Panem, and it's not always the nicest things that come out of his mouth. Let's just say, Jay is… opinionated. And not afraid to insult people when he knows they're standing right behind him. Sometimes it gets annoying, and even scary – I've no doubt that his big mouth has gotten him into massive trouble before – but other times, I have to resist the urge to laugh. For a small twelve-year-old boy with crutches, Jay can be pretty intimidating, and I made a mental note the first time I met him not to ever get into an argument with him.

Hamlet, on the other hand, is more like me. Quiet and self-contained, but unlike me, he's not afraid to say what he thinks when he does talk. I know people think him strange for some of the things he says, but to me, it's pretty intriguing. I never allow myself to be bold and come out with my opinions, in case they hurt others or make me a target, but Hamlet unknowingly makes me guilty about feeling like that. You get the feeling he sees and knows a lot more than he lets on, but nobody would ever ask him about it and more often that not, he's doesn't share.

And me? Well, I don't even like talking about myself. I know full well I'm the quietest and probably most guarded person out of the twenty-four of us, but then again, you never know what a person might be hiding. Maybe I'm just flattering myself when I think that I have nothing to hide, but in reality, my biggest secret could earn me a lot of enemies. Just for being who I am, I could be ridiculed, hated. And that's why I don't like to talk about myself, in case there are clues Hamlet could pick up on. Unfortunately, he's been looking at me slyly the past few days, frowning slightly. I think he might be on to me. But Hamlet wouldn't tell anybody, maybe not even me.

"Dude. Birch?" Jay waves his hand in front of my face, trying to get my attention. I frown slightly, but let it go. I've always been more of a 'dude' than a girl. One of the guys, I guess. I suppose most girls would probably think it the end of their life if they looked as masculine as I do – and let's be honest, people _have _mistaken me for a guy before – but actually, it comes in handy once in a while. You'd be surprised.

"Were you even listening?" Jay asks, and Hamlet's brown eyes bore into me.

"I – yeah," I lie.

Jay smirks. "Uh-huh, right. Because it looked to me like you were staring in completely the opposite direction?"

"Was I?" I don't remember doing that… oh, wait, yes, I _was _staring somewhere else.

Or more precisely, at somebody else.

"Yeah. Don't worry though, I'm not offended." Well, that's good to know. Just as long as you don't know about the many other times I've tuned you out, Jay.

Jay's brow furrows, trying to retrace back to where I'd been gazing. "What were you staring at?"

"Who," Hamlet murmurs, more to himself than anybody else. It's an innocent comment, but I glare at him anyway. He doesn't even notice it.

"What?" Jay looks at him in confusion, then back to me. "Why would you be staring at somebody?"

Oh, yes, Jay's _twelve. _Thank God he doesn't quite understand.

"No one," I say unconvincingly. "Just… the wall. Yeah. The wall."

Jay looks at me like I'm mad.

"No you weren't," he says slowly. I know Jay, and I know he won't rest until he gets an answer. "Go on, Birch. Who was it?"

"I – I don't –" I stammer, blushing furiously.

"Leave it, Jay," Hamlet mutters, just as quietly as he did before. We both look at him in surprise. Most of the time, he's indifferent to any conversation that goes on between us.

Jay rolls his eyes. "Fine. Just _asking._"

I stifle a giggle at his pouting, childish expression, nodding at Hamlet. He locks eyes with me – brown meeting brown – for a split second, then looks away again. That's probably the most responsive thing I'll ever get from him.

I need to be more careful. I can't zone out like that again. I was _staring _at them, openly staring! What if they looked my way? They probably wouldn't think anything of it, but still – Jay would. I don't think he'd think badly of me for it, but who knew? And anyway, we are in the Hunger Games. Now is not the time to develop a love interest.

Especially not one like _her._

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I imagine Birch to be a lot like Dekka from the 'Gone' series by Michael Grant... but maybe that's just me. Please remember to review!<strong>


	7. The Interviews

**AN: So I said I was going to update tomorrow. That was... 4 weeks ago. Oops! School is taking up so much more time than I expected this year. GCSE preparation -.- But I'm back with three more chapters! Thank you all for your reviews - I didn't get many last chapter, and I understand that was because I'd been shifting around chapters and a lot of you had technically already reviewed that chapter and some other confusing crap. Anyway, I think the reviews should be back to normal this chapter. Otherwise, just PM me them, because I still love reviews no matter what form they take. :)**

**As for the private training sessions chapter - I half-wrote that, then gave up on it because a) it was crap, and b) day 3 of training would have taken a few more days to be published had I finished it. But if you guys really want to read it, then I'll post it as a sort of separate chapter. If not, I can just post a list of the scores the tributes received.**

**This chapter... is not my best. I'm not very good with interviews. Remind me never to become a TV presenter or anything. And I imagine Caesar to be in his twenties in this, as I've no idea how old he is in the THG trilogy. **

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><p><span>District 7 - Katriel Keen POV<span>

I shift on my stool, twisting my fingers together nervously. I think the whole of Panem will be able to see me constantly fidgeting, but I can't help it. I hate being in the spotlight. A phenomenal crowd has gathered to watch our interviews, and the noise is even more deafening than it was at the chariot rides. The bright lights are giving me a headache – one is positioned so that it shines right into my face and almost blinds me.

Shine Shine – no joke, that's really what my stylist is called – has dressed me in black trousers and a dark green shirt. It's almost identical to my reaping outfit, except that the shirt actually fits this time. I can see Shine Shine sitting with the other mentors from where I am, staring into space. Her golden hair and sparkling skin catches the many lights, and I get the feeling I'm not the only one who finds her painful to look at.

Suddenly, the noise of the crowd becomes a roar, and I have to squint to see Caesar Flickerman stride onto the stage, greeted by thunderous applause and whoops. This year, he's dyed his hair, lips, eyelids and everything a deep purple. Well, it's not as bad as last year, when it was an orange-green colour and looked like someone had puked up all over him. He's got that easy, likeable grin on his face that everybody knows, and my stomach calms down just a little. Caesar will help me out when it comes to my interview. Caesar helps everyone out.

"Good evening, Capitol! And good evening, Panem!" He does a funny little salute thing, followed by a silly bow. Laughter erupts throughout the crowd. "How are we all?" An answering roar meets him. Everybody loves Caesar, no doubt about it. "Let's warm everyone up a bit! We've got twenty four wonderful tributes to interview, and I daresay they're feeling slightly nervous!" He turns round and gives us a wink. Some tributes can't help but smile back. "So without further ado, let's make a start and hopefully we can all be home to watch the usual Saturday night television!" More laughter. "Starting us off today is Ember Maloff from District 1. Come on up!"

Ember sweeps up, in her blue dress and black heels, to join Caesar on the sofa, which must make tributes feel more at ease than they probably should. I mean, this time tomorrow, half of us could be dead. I saw that happen a few years ago. In the bloodbath, twelve tributes died and the rest, save one, were all dead within the next twenty-four hours. It was the shortest Games in history, and doesn't help my nerves.

Ember is surprisingly charming and polite to Caesar. I've never seen her so… tolerable? A couple of times, her usual self creeps back in, like when Caesar asked her how she planned on getting rid of the competition and she replied with, "I'll kill them all with my own bare hands in cold blood." The crowd were visibly confused, used to charming Ember and not cruel and cold Ember. It wasn't anything I hadn't heard come out of her mouth before, though.

Zircon is his usual smiley, friendly self. I don't know if the friendliness is an act or not, but it works because he's got all the Capitol ladies cooing over him by the end of his interview. His attitude is a mellower form of his outfit – a shocking gold tuxedo. I feel sorry for him, I do, but Zircon isn't the complaining type and must be used to going along with things.

Zircon's a mystery to me, even if the Capitol think they've got him figured out as a nice, easy-going boy who isn't daunted by all the cameras and lights. I just wouldn't be able to trust him, even if we weren't in the Hunger Games. But then again, I'm not one to talk: I can count on one hand the amount of people I trust.

When Alondra's turn rolls around, we're halfway through the interviews and my palms are getting sweaty. I wipe them furiously on my trousers. It's my turn in three minutes, and the butterflies in my stomach start doing somersaults again. What if I freeze up? What if I'm too shy and everyone forgets about me?

Clumsy Alondra in sky-high heels and a very long green dress which trails behind her is not a good combination. So when she trips forward halfway to Caesar and lands flat on her face, it's not much of a surprise. I try not to laugh along with everyone else out of loyalty to Alondra. When Caesar, chuckling, kindly helps her up and Alondra laughs, her face very red, I allow myself a smile. Alondra wouldn't let anything like that put her off, and she's definitely got the crowd's attention.

She's lovely and sweet, and accompanies everything she says with a smile or a little joke. I can tell she's nervous, but she manages to cover it up pretty well. On her way back, she even manages not to stumble, spurred on by the crowd's support during her interview. I feel pleased for her, until I realise it's my turn.

I'm so glad to reach the sofa that I practically collapse onto it, because I'm sure the cameras could see my legs shaking as I was walking.

"Nice to meet you, Katriel. How are you feeling tonight?" Caesar asks, and I'm sure he can tell how nervous I am. I wouldn't be surprised. He's been doing this for a good few years, he can probably sort the confident, natural tributes from the ones who are putting on an act, from the ones who are quite obviously wishing they were anywhere else.

"Er, good, thank you, Mr Flickerman," I gulp, trying it a smile. I think it works.

Someone in the crowd calls, "Aww!"

"Caesar's fine with me, son," the interviewer tells me, and I don't even mind when he calls me 'son'. "Now, can you tell me a bit about your family?"

So much for going easy on me. I wonder if Mum, Dad and Isaac are watching?

"Erm, well, there's my parents, and my brother Isaac. He's ten."

"Ah, I see. Can you tell us about Isaac?"

"Um, we're very… different." The crowd laughs, and I can feel my heart lift. "Isaac is louder and stronger than me, basically my opposite, but we get along really well."

"You know, I had a relationship like that with someone when I was your age," Caesar says thoughtfully. "I was always the talkative one, and Rocky never said a word. Who ever heard of a fish being so shy?"

And just like that, the tension lifts. After spending a bit of time on the Isaac topic – he must be feeling so special back in District 7 right now – Caesar goes on for a bit about my image and teases me about a ruthless killer hiding beneath my shy demeanour. He made things so much easier for me, doing most of the talking without making it seem like he was hogging the conversation, and when my buzzer sounds I'm actually smiling as I go back to my seat. I hear a lot of people gushing, "What a sweetheart!" and cooing, but there's only one thing on my mind.

It's over. I can relax… until tomorrow.

District 8 – Tristan Thorin POV

It's pretty obvious early on what angle Aveira Malik is playing up. In a hot pink dress that's so tight I'm surprised she can still breathe, there's not a male for a mile around who isn't affected by her… behaviour.

She struts up to Caesar like she's on the catwalk, flicking her hair over a shoulder and that smirk on her face. Only this evening, the Aveira-smirk is much more suggestive than it usually is. She sits a bit too close to Caesar, who must have had experience with tributes playing the sexy and flirtatious angle before, but he's still slightly slack-jawed as he gets the questions started off.

All through the interview, Aveira twirls her hair around her finger and giggles at every single joke Caesar makes, even if it's sarcastic. She says everything with an adopted voice that can only be described as _breathy_, and she plays up to all the wolf-whistles. Her legs are crossed, and the slit up the side of her dress goes all the way up to the top of her thigh. I gulp, and cough discreetly. Well, she might be a Career, but I'm still a teenage guy.

I'm not the only one. Everybody else is amazed too, because Aveira is usually so tough. She can take care of herself, everybody knows that. Her selling herself like this is a bit of a shock to the system, but we should have expected it, really.

"I'm sure you'll do a lot to impress us in the arena, Aveira," Caesar says when her buzzer sounds, indicating her time is up.

Aveira leans in towards Caesar, and whispers – but everybody can still hear her, because she's within range of Caesar's mic, she's that close – "Oh, you don't know what I can do, Caesar." Then she actually pecks him on the cheek, winks at the Capitol crowd, and struts back to her seat, making a point to sway her hips.

I gulp again. I remind myself I'm in love with Lu. Sneaking a glance at the girl beside me, I see that she's staring determinedly ahead. Well, she might not return my feelings, but I'm working on that. She can only resist my good looks and witty humour for so long.

Titan Ashes is… difficult. He's sort of shut himself off, and isn't willing to open up for Caesar or the Capitol, or potential sponsors. Still, strong and silent could be exactly what sponsors are looking for.

In any case, even Caesar struggles to joke around with Titan, and doesn't succeed in getting one heartfelt answer out of him. He even tries to press him about his sister, who apparently died in the Games a few years back, but Titan is having none of it.

To me, Lu comes off as a fighter in her interview. Maybe that's just because I like thinking of her as a fighter – feisty women sort of run in my family – but that's besides the point.

After Lu mentions her brothers, Caesar makes a casual joke about rivalry between her and 'the boys'. Immediately, Lu gets defensive and just in time her buzzer sounds before she can start a full-blown argument with Caesar. I catch myself grinning as she makes her way back, and she shoots me a strange look.

"Good to meet you, Tristan!" Caesar exclaims when I reach him.

"Caesar, my man!" I slap his shoulder, give him a hearty handshake and sit down, leaning into the back of the sofa, totally at ease. "What's going down?"

"Hopefully not you, I think I've just made a new best friend!" Caesar laughs, with a shrug to the audience, who cheer.

"Ah, we're all friends here, Caesar," I grin, before lowering my voice and saying, "I hope Aveira isn't getting jealous."

The crowd is buzzing. They're all hyped up from Lu's attitude, which I suppose could be dangerous, but people loved her. She brought a bit of life back into the interviews, and I intend to do the same.

"So, Tristan, tells us about life back home. What did you spend your days doing?" Caesar asks.

I notice he's speaking in the past tense, but I can't know if anyone else does. "What didn't I do? Chasing girls… bunking off work… chasing girls… plotting world domination… chasing girls… practising my smile in the mirror –" Just for effect, I smile to the Capitol crowd, eyebrows raised. They applaud in approval. "- and did I mention chasing girls?"

Caesar shakes his head. "Nope, subtlety must be a strong point of yours. Tristan, you seem like a pretty fun bloke. I saw your reaping – crowd surfing, very impressive! It's good to know you don't crack under pressure. What's the craziest thing you've ever done?"

The smile on my face fades slightly. I remember the craziest thing I ever did, clear as crystal. Every detail is engrained into my memory, because the craziest thing I've ever done hurt somebody, hurt them bad. I realise that sharing it would be a bit of a mood killer, and I'm not sure if I can bring myself to talk about it anyway. So I choose the first thing that pops into my head – the first thing that isn't illegal, anyway.

"Last year, on my birthday, I declared National Kissing Day," I start. "Everybody was going around kissing everybody else: friends, exes, friends' partners, relatives, enemies. Let me just say: Best. Birthday. Present. Ever." I plastered a dreamy look on my face, making everybody laugh. "Until my brother planted a great big smacker on me."

When my buzzer sounds, I give a cheery wave and head off back to my seat to an uproar of people cheering and applauding. Lu raises an eyebrow as if she's actually impressed, and I grin easily back.

District 9 – Hamlet Simmons POV

At home, I never watch the interviews, except maybe the ones of the tributes from my own district. Mum is never interested in them, and she's too busy anyway. They're a bit boring. Everybody likes to put on a show for the Capitol. I don't understand. The Capitol is bad, the Capitol created the Hunger Games. Why do the tributes show off for the Capitol people? There are people who don't do that, but the Capitol people don't seem to like them. They're usually my favourites, however.

Sitting here waiting to be interviewed doesn't make it any less boring. Except here, I can see everybody and they can see me, which is a bit daunting. I think I can see why some people want to show off, even if it means not acting like themselves. 'Be yourself', that's what Mum tells me all the time, but I guess I've seen that being themselves won't do some tributes a lot of good. You sort of want to perform for the Capitol people, because they're clapping and shouting and being very encouraging.

Ebanie Streeter's dress is what grabs my attention. It's beautiful, starting out white at the top, and becoming light pink at the bottom. There's a flowery black pattern on the back and a bow at the side, which isn't too big or flashy. The layers in the middle make it seem kind of floaty and give it life. I wonder if I could achieve that texture and colour transition in my painting?

Ebanie isn't quite as soft and lovely as her dress, which is a shame. She's loud and I think she might be slightly mad. She made Laurath mad the other day, anyway. She is the type of person that might get along well with Tristan, but I don't know if Lupine would like that.

She is very sweet though, and has always been nice to me. Her interview is a bit all over the place, but I think it went well. She did seem to be shaking a little, though.

Her district partner, Milton Rocksham, is very quiet. He talks a lot about his little sister, who sounds very cute from the way he describes her. I hate it when tributes have little brothers or sisters who have to watch them in the Games.

The ladies in the crowd like to coo over the little ones, and Milton is no different. I think he is just being himself, but the women are still won over by him. I wonder what everyone will think of me?

When Birch is having her interview, she's twisting her fingers the whole time and her hands won't keep still. She told me yesterday it's because she's used to having a woodcarving project to do and so her hands are always in motion. It must be strange, not being able to do the thing you love most for days. Then again, I suppose it's strange not seeing the people you love for days. There will probably be trees in the arena, and she can get wood from those. It would be nice to see Birch do her woodcarving again.

I know Birch isn't acting during her interview, because she's her usual quiet self until she starts to tear up when she talks about her family. Birch is a very emotional person, and my mother says that's a good thing.

"Pleasure to meet you, Hamlet," Caesar says when I walk over to sit on the sofa. Suddenly, everyone's eyes are on me. It's a bit unnerving. There are so many Capitol people out there in the crowd, watching me, all squashed tightly together. It's hard to pick out a single Capitol trend – it's just a merge of electric blue hair, fangs, and leopard print skin, among other things which aren't very pretty. When everyone is together, like this, and all the bright colours are clashing, the Capitol doesn't look anywhere near as beautiful as it did on the train ride in.

I nod at Caesar. "It's good to be here." Laughter. Was that funny? I glance behind me, and a couple of the other tributes are frowning. And then I realise that it's not good to be here, because it's the Hunger Games. Oops.

"Is it? Tell me, Hamlet, are you with these guys over here?" Caesar nods to his left, where the Careers sit.

Ember gives a short bark of laughter, and I flush. "N-no," I stammer. "Not with them, no."

"Can you tell us who you are allies with?"

Allies? Birch and Jay are my friends. 'Allies' makes it sound a bit more serious than that, but I suppose they are. Caesar is a very nice man, and he doesn't tease me. I really want to tell him – maybe he just has 'that type of face', as my mother sometimes says, but I don't know if she meant purple-coloured faces – but for some reason I'm also thinking that might not be a good idea. Jay mentioned strategies the other day, and told me I wasn't very good with them. He's very blunt, but I think he means it in the kindest way possible.

"I – I don't think so," I shrug. The Capitol crowd look disappointed, and I turn red.

Caesar moves on quickly, knowing I'm uncomfortable. See? He's a nice man, not like the Capitol is supposed to be at all.

"Is there anyone special in your life, Hamlet?" he asks, a sly grin on his face. I frown. What does he mean? Everyone has special people in their lives, their family and friends.

"My mother?" I phrase it as a question, uncertain. Someone stifles a snigger behind me.

"No, no, no. Someone who isn't related to you. A girl?" He raises his eyebrows at the Capitol crowd. "A boy, perhaps?"

Something is stopping me from mentioning Edison, because I don't think that's what Caesar means. What does he… oh! A special someone as in girlfriend. Or boyfriend.

"Er, no. No one like that," I say sheepishly.

The Capitol crowd makes a sympathetic, "Aaaah!" and I turn even redder. Luckily, my buzzer sounds at that moment and the District 10 girl makes her way up to the sofa.

I've never had anyone special… like that. Is it too late now?

District 10 – Braeden Koi POV

There was actually an audible sigh of relief when Melody Cross turned up in a completely normal blue dress, and walked over to Caesar in completely normal black pumps. I think we'd all been half-expecting her to turn up as a fish – again.

Anyway, there's nothing _fishy _about her performance tonight. Yeah, don't repeat that joke when it's your turn, Braeden. Melody isn't anything special or memorable, but she's… well, she's not a Career. She and Caesar chatted and got along like old friends, like she didn't have a care in the world. Is this how all the Careers act when they're not with each other? Or is it just Melody who doesn't really belong?

She struts back to her seat after probably the cleanest interview so far. Nothing went wrong, there were no awkward pauses, and she didn't leave a bad impression. If only everyone else's went so smoothly. Actually, no, scratch that. If only Lusa's interview and my interview could go so smoothly, and everybody else can screw up as much as they like.

Mellish Reed is up next, and I swear the guy eats kids or something during his spare time. His mentor has probably told him to try and be likable, but it doesn't come naturally to him – at all. When he tries to smile easily at the crowd, it looks more like he's eyeing them up and is trying to decide which Capitol victim to attack with a chainsaw first.

Caesar tries to smooth out the wrinkles in their interview, but Mellish snaps at him a couple of times. It must only be his looks which are keeping the Capitol from booing him off. Maybe it's just nerves, or maybe he's always been that unapproachable – in any case, nobody warms to him very much and his interview is a complete shambles in the end. It shows in his face, too, as he mouths a swear word to Aveira on his way back. I'm pretty sure the cameras caught that.

Lusa is… beautiful. I'm not biased in any way shape or form, but she easily outshines every other tribute that went before her. She looks stunning in a golden dress with a peacock design, her wavy brown hair soft and lustrous. Her green eyes look brighter tonight, more piercing, shining like emeralds. She's absolutely amazing.

OK, so maybe I'm _slightly _biased.

Caesar looks like he wants to take her under his wing or something by the end of her interview. She's shy, sweet and charming, everything that most Capitol citizens adore. Earlier, before we went on air, Lusa told me she felt scared about doing the interview. _Scared? _She's doing everything right! She doesn't falter or get flustered once, but keeps her cool and it shows on her face. She looks genuinely happy when her time is up and she's making her way back. I'm so proud of her.

"Was that alright?" she whispers as she passes me.

"Perfect," I whisper back, smiling and giving her hand a quick squeeze. Then our fingers separate and it's my turn. My interview with Caesar Flickerman.

I take a deep breath and grin out at the crowds as I take my seat on the sofa, shaking Caesar's hand. Huh, he looks exactly the same up close as he does on camera. No obvious work or alterations – apart from, you know, the dyed hair and parts of his face.

"Well, I've got to say, it was a pleasure to meet your district partner back there," are Caesar's first words when the crowds quiet down. "Are you quite the charmer like your friend?"

"Er, I don't know. Why don't you figure out for yourself?" I suggest, winking at the audience. Somebody wolf-whistles.

"Of course, of course. District 10 never fails to impress!" Caesar exclaims.

Some random guy at the back of the crowd whoops.

"Ah, but is she more than a friend, Braeden?" Caesar asks, looking at me knowingly. I blush slightly. "Oh – oh, I think we can safely say she is!"

"Ah, no, Caesar, she'll never forgive me for this!" I shake my head despairingly and the cameras round on Lusa's surprised face, but she plays along, pretending to be disapproving and embarrassed.

"She will, she will, don't worry." Caesar beckons me closer, and says in a stage-whisper, "You know what I do to win the ladies over?"

"Hmm… dye your hair their favourite colour?" I stage-whisper back, earning chuckles from the crowd and a mock offended look from Caesar.

"No, no, no. I borrow my little nephew and show him off. Women love babies! Isn't that right, ladies?" He shrugs at the audience, holding his hands out wide. "Of course, _I _was the one who got slapped when he disagreed with his breakfast one time and decided to throw it all back up again!"

Everyone roars with laughter, and the interview carries on as easily as this for the rest of my allocated time. It really _is _easy to talk to Caesar – you just completely forget about the importance of these three minutes and don't even feel like you have to act.

There are four more tributes to go after me, and I can finally relax and look forward to my bed in the Training Centre, trying not to think about what tomorrow morning holds –

Until Laurath Cavernson goes up and throws that feeling out the window.

District 11 – Ruse Carnegie POV

Alright, let's just get one thing clear – District 5 are scientists, not meant for interviews and public appearances. And they should _not _give up their day job.

I don't want to be mean about it, but I have been known to be blunt in the past, and well, I can't help it. Peridot Reska, pretty though she looks in her purple dress, barely squeaks out a word during her interview with Caesar. Katriel Keen spoke more than she did!

I don't think anyone knows what's going on with Peridot. Nobody can figure her out. She keeps to herself and didn't appear to excel at anything during training, but I've heard she's supposed to be pretty smart. I suppose that alone could get her far, but you never know what's waiting for you in that arena. Tristan and I considered stalking her, binoculars and everything, but Tristan chickened out because he didn't want to get in Lu's bad books. And I could hardly carry out the mission alone.

Besides, the last time I stalked someone, I got slapped.

Anyway, District 5 continues to just be one big sticky mess of… stickiness. You just have to feel sorry for them. It's a well-known fact that District 5 tributes, for all their brains and clever plans and tidy appearances, just aren't the type for this, and they never get mentors or stylists who can help out with that. They might be the most socially awkward district in Panem, and it probably doesn't help that they look down their noses at nearly everyone else. Let's just say there are more likable districts that catch the Capitol sponsors' eyes.

Peridot and Gabe Thorp are no exception to this. Gabe makes a bigger effort than Peridot does, but it still falls just a little… short. He's a bit intense – 'focused', he insists to Caesar – and sarcastic, taking Caesar aback every now and again. Maybe if they weren't in front of a crowd, the interview would flow better, but unfortunately there is a crowd. Everything feels awkward when they finally finish. I try to mouth at them, "Don't worry, it's the taking part that counts!", but I don't think they understood me.

I don't know what everyone expects from Laurath. The twenty-three of us, anyway. Her outburst towards Ebanie yesterday was a shock to the system, because both of them had been lying relatively low and it was like we'd just noticed them for the first time. They say first impressions matter, so I'm not sure what Laurath's stylist was thinking when they dressed her up as some sort of angel of death. She's wearing a strapless black dress, which is a bit morbid, and some seriously heavy-duty eyeliner and mascara. Her pale skin is 'in' with the Capitol's trends, and it offsets her outfit perfectly if that's the kind of look she's going for.

God, where did I _learn _all this stuff?

Anyway, her interview is going quite well for the most part. She's surprisingly lovely to Caesar, answering politely and with her good 'manners', whatever they are. Jeez, is this really the same Laurath Cavernson we all heard scream bloody murder at Ebanie Streeter yesterday?

And then it happens, and I think, _Ah, good, I was worried the apocalypse was nigh for a second. _What does 'nigh' even mean, anyway?

She has about thirty seconds of her interview left, and Caesar is trying to wrap it up by asking her the simple question, "And what do you think your chances are tomorrow, Laurath?"

Something must snap inside her. It's the same question Caesar asked most of the tributes before her, but it seems to affect her more. Is there some hidden insult there nobody else saw? Laurath must see something, because she puts on a malicious smirk even Aveira Malik would be jealous of, and simpers, "Oh, Caesar. Have you ever asked that question of yourself?" She looks out to the waiting Capitol crowd. "Have any of you ever asked that question? Oh, no, of course not. Because you've never had any need, have you? No need for anything." She's hissing, almost like an angry cat, by this point. The rest of us are casting nervous glances at each other. "You're more than willing to bet on us, watch us die on your TV screens, all cosy up at home. We don't get that luxury. But at the end of the day, if it was you in our place, would you last five minutes?" Then she turns, and sends a sweet smile to Caesar. "So in answer to your question, yes. Compared to you lot, _anyone _stands a good chance."

The buzzer sounds right on cue. Laurath stands, flicks her hair out of her eyes and sweeps off the stage, like nothing abnormal happened whatsoever.

Silence follows her.

Before it can stretch out for too long, Caesar recovers himself, obviously desperate to get things under control and put a stop to the whispering which has started. I almost don't hear my name being called, I'm in such a state of shock. So many pairs of eyes are fixed on Laurath, disbelieving, some bewildered. Why would she do that? Why would she doom herself like that? The Gamemakers will be after her now, doing everything in their power to kill her off as soon as possible and wipe her from the Capitol citizen's minds.

When I reach the couch, Caesar greets me perfectly normally, looks at me with a bit of a hard look. The message is written clearly in his eyes: _We're going to carry on completely normally, as if nothing happened. _And I'm hardly going to disagree.

The Capitol citizens must have memories like goldfish, because pretty much as soon as my interview has started, they've started cheering, laughing, reacting to my answers. It sounds forced, though. Vague. Unsure.

Caesar seems particularly keen to hear about my sister Randa, her husband Brier, and their little girl Kenna. She's basically my best friend in cute little toddler form. I'm so glad she's too young to understand anything she sees on the television, but Randa would keep her safe from it anyway. It's just, I wish so much that I could keep her safe from the world too. And I realise that the chances of me winning the Hunger Games are slim to none, but I'll never forgive myself if I don't give it my damn best shot, so Kenna can be proud of me when she's told what happened to her uncle.

"What motivates you to win the Games, Ruse?" Caesar questions, a softer look in his eye. Maybe he's hoping I'll gush about my girlfriend or some sort of tragic family story back home. It's much simpler than that.

"My niece, Kenna," I tell him, without any hesitation. "She's one and a half years old, and I have to win, if only for her. Because let's be honest, who else would teach her how to jump out of trees without breaking her neck?"

I can just imagine Randa's reaction to that, sitting in her and Brier's house back in District 11. Tearing up, before shaking her head at my last joke and grinning.

Then finally realising that I actually was planning to teach Kenna how to do exactly that on her second birthday.

District 12 – Lennox Harper POV

I never did think the District 6 siblings were real threats, for all they tried to convince people of it. My brother always used to say there was a difference between acting tough and being tough. I used to wonder what he meant by that, but now I can see that District 6 _are_ the difference.

They certainly know how to put on a performance, however. Nobody can miss Darcy Nuostabus in her short, black gothic dress and slatherings of dramatic makeup. Her vivid orange hair – which makes me remember, there are quite a few redheads this year – is accentuated by black highlights and the crimped, fluffy shape it's been styled into. I can just imagine my very proper mother tutting and shaking her head at Darcy's entire outfit.

So the bright smile she plasters on her face when she walks up to Caesar looks very out of place with her dark, gothic appearance. I was half expecting her to sprout fangs – which would have probably earned her some favour with the strangest of the Capitol sponsors, come to think of it.

First impressions aside, Darcy turns out to be the polar opposite of her brother, who looks as normal as can be in the standard black suit and slim tie. I already had an inkling of this beforehand, but there's only so much you can pick up without being caught. I wouldn't call it eavesdropping… it's just everyone else talks too loud.

You'd be surprised how much you can learn from smiling, not talking, and just listening and watching. The secrets, the plans, the motives. The betrayal. I'm not going to name names, but over the last few days I've learnt a few things that could cost some tributes their lives if they were to accidentally get out.

_It's always the quiet ones, _I think to myself, smiling slightly as I survey the tributes I've got… gossip on. That was something my brother used to say all the time, too. It sounds a lot more sinister now, knowing what I'm a part of. I was never one for spreading rumours and gossip at school – I was always well behaved, did as I was told, kept to myself. But I can't be perfectly innocent now; it'll get me killed. Maybe a little dash of sinister is exactly what I need to complete my image.

After all, I'm going to have to do _something _with all the dirt I've got on the other tributes.

As I was saying before, Darcy had the sunniest, most infectious personality, compared to her unresponsive brother. Alexander Nuostabus, surprisingly, got a similar reaction to Titan Ashes. Do the Capitol ladies have a thing for strong, silent and brooding types? The two boys are more alike than they seem. If they join together... all hell could break loose.

Or it could just be a very quiet, handsome, strong-and-silent-stand-off alliance.

Laurath's… um, episode, unsettles and subdues the audience. Ruse sort of gets them going again, but even Capitol citizens are clever enough to realise that they were just trashed by a thirteen-year-old girl.

"Well, this face looks familiar!" Caesar exclaims, as I go up to join him on the sofa, elegantly holding my silvery dress up so I don't trip over the hem. As precarious of these heels may be, I feel so much taller in them. Perhaps with that added height comes a new confidence, because I've got no problems with sending the crowd my most winning smile. With my strapless, figure-hugging dress, monster heels and 'shiny new attitude' (as my bouncy stylist put it), this is the boldest I've ever been.

"Lennox Harper, didn't we see your brother sitting in your place a few years back?" Caesar asks, getting straight into it with none of the usual pleasantries. The crowd perks up. They love it when a sibling of a past tribute enters the Games, which is probably why they went mental over District 6.

"You did," I smile sadly. "Rory."

Caesar gives me a sympathetic look. "He was the same age as you, wasn't he? Can you tell us a bit about Rory and the relationship you two had?"

"A year older than me," I admit. "Rory was my best friend. I loved him to pieces. _Love _him to pieces," I correct myself, willing the tears not to come. I never, ever cried, and I wasn't about to give Caesar a sob story now.

"Alright then," Caesar says, recognising that's all I'm giving him. "That's lovely to hear. Maybe he'll bring you luck in the arena?"

"Maybe," I murmur, fingering the beaded bracelet on my wrist.

"Back to the here and now, then. Have you arranged any alliances yet? Got friendly with another competitor?" Caesar waggles his eyebrows suggestively, and I smirk.

"Get in line," I respond dismissively, making Caesar and the audience roar with laughter.

I'm exhausted as I make my way back to my seat. I try not to show it, forcing my eyes to stay wide open, but I can't focus on Jay and his interview. I know that Jay likes to talk a lot – which he does throughout his entire interview, so much so that Caesar can't really get a word in edgeways – but at least he avoids touching on controversial subjects, like Laurath. It's mostly just incessant rambling, which most people would put down to nerves, but I know better. I know that rambling is just what Jay does.

After Caesar wraps up the show and the crowd starts to trickle back home, chattering and shouting and generally making a lot of noise that makes my head hurt, I'm glad we aren't allowed to stick around. As people start to bustle around and clear everyone out so they can tidy everything up, the twenty-four of us are tightly escorted to the cars that will take us back to the Training Centre.

When we finally reach our floor – the last pair of tributes to do so – I mumble goodnight to Jay and let myself into my room, passing out as soon as I've changed and collapsed on the bed. Tomorrow is the first day of the 40th Hunger Games. I should be thinking, planning, worrying. I could _die _tomorrow.

But sleep is dragging me under, and the sheets are so warm and inviting that right now, I don't even care.

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><p><strong>Please review. ^.^<strong>


	8. The Bloodbath

**AN: Well, this is the one we've all been waiting for. The bloodbath! There are one or two surprises, I think - but not that many tributes are killed off, you'll be glad to hear.**

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><p><span>Lusinderra Barette POV – District 10<span>

Sky. I am standing on the sky.

Well, technically I'm standing on my metal circle, but that metal circle is more of a podium, held up by a long arm of metal reaching up out of… what? Gulping, I pluck up the courage to lean over the side of my metal circle. Water. That's what's waiting below. And from up here, from where I stand now, there's at least a fifty metre drop between that water and my metal circle.

Panicked, I glance quickly around me, straining my eyes. The twenty-four of us are all standing at the same height, at least fifty metres up, in a massive circle, so big I can't even tell if the tribute directly opposite me is a boy or a girl. Down below in the middle of our circle is the Cornucopia, sitting on an island surrounded by water. In the distance, I can make out thick greenery – it must be a forest – and the tops of… buildings? No, it can't be. They've never had buildings in the arena before. It'll just be a structure or a giant cave, or perhaps even a second Cornucopia. I look frantically to the tributes either side of me – the District 6 girl and the District 4 boy – and I'm alarmed to see that their metal podiums hold no steps, no rope, no way of getting down safely.

In horror, I realise there's only one way to get off these circles. We'll have to jump.

My eyes scan the tributes for Braeden. I can't see him anywhere – is he on the other side of the circle? The District 6 boy and District 4 girl are nowhere in sight, either – perhaps they've placed district partners as far away from each other as possible.

I've no idea what to do, and our sixty seconds are ticking away fast. I can't jump. I'll die plummeting into those waters from this high up! They must have given us a way down. And what if Braeden comes off his metal circle way before I do? He can't wait for me at the Cornucopia; the Careers will be hot on his heels for sure. What if we lose each other?

That's when I notice the landmines. Or rather, the lack of them. Every year, the metal circles are surrounded by landmines, which will blow you up if you step off your plate a second too soon. But up here, we are only surrounded by air. Where have they put the landmines, then? I'm sure the answer must be connected to how we get down besides jumping, but I can't quite put my finger on it.

The gong startles me, and I know I have to do something now. Nobody moves, though. Everyone is still puzzling over what to do, eyeing each other up warily. I pat my belt on my tribute outfit, as if willing it to give me the answer. The belt…

"Darcy, no!"

A cry of warning makes me look sharply to my right. I lay eyes on the girl on the other side of District 6 – she must have made an alliance with the girl called Darcy, why else would she warn her of anything? – reaching out to Darcy, eyes wide with fear. A heartbeat later, an explosion that nearly knocks me off my own metal circle makes me give a faint shriek of horror. And what I started to suspect is confirmed to me.

Darcy from District 6 has blown herself up.

There's a flurry of activity as, very quickly, the rest of the tributes figure out what the girl who gave the warning cry figured out a moment too late. They couldn't put the landmines in the ground this year.

They've put bombs in the belts strapped around our waists.

There's two buttons on my belt, and finally everything is clear. One button will activate the bombs inside the belts, blowing that person up and killing them immediately. The other must be a way to get down more safely than jumping. And the District 6 girl was unfortunate enough to press the wrong button.

I lock gazes with the girl who tried to stop Darcy. She's District 3, I think, and already she's lost an ally. Was Darcy her ally, though? It seems unlikely that that brother of hers would have allowed anyone else to join them, from the impression I've gained of him. The District 3 girl gestures to the rest of the circle – and that's when I realise everybody else is moving. The 4 boy next to me is the first to leap off his circle, waiting for no one, and both District 11 tributes aren't far behind. 11… agriculture. They must be used to jumping down from ridiculously high trees.

I nod at District 3, understanding what she's trying to tell me. We need to get a move on. More people are starting to jump now, rather than face the alternative. Rather than end up like Darcy from District 6, the first victim of the 40th Hunger Games. But I don't know what to do. I'm too scared to jump, and I'm terrified I'll press the wrong button. Turning back to District 3, I find that she's gone, and look down to see her bright red hair in the water, streaming towards the Cornucopia. I don't blame her. Most of the Careers are already in the water.

"Lusa! Down here!"

I avert my gaze to see Braeden treading water directly below me, grinning and waving. Honestly, only him. Wait, when did he learn to swim?

"How do I get down?" I yell desperately, aware that it's only me and six other tributes who haven't left their circles yet.

"Press the left button!" he shouts back. "The left one!"

My left or his left? I call this question down to him.

"Oh… erm…" Oh, wonderful, my ally doesn't know his rights or lefts. "Your left!" His hesitation in deciding doesn't exactly fill me with confidence, and when I look at the bloody mess left behind by Darcy – a couple of her body parts are floating in the waters below now – I'm even more put off.

"Lusa, we need to go now!" he urges, and I realise he's right. The District 4 boy has nearly reached the island with the Cornucopia, and the others won't be far behind. They'll be nothing left for us soon. So I step off my metal circle, slam down on the left button on my belt, expecting death and blood everywhere – but it never comes. In fact, I'm floating now…

A parachute! That's what I've released. A parachute to take me safely and gently down to the water, where I can join Braeden. I hope he's a good swimmer, because I've had no experience in that department whatsoever.

"Nice to see you. Don't be scared, the water's lovely," he quips when I land in the water beside him, helping rip the parachute off me and sending it into the depths of the water.

In actual fact, the water isn't lovely, it's freezing cold, and I've just witnessed someone being blown up. But because it's Braeden, I actually smile, despite the situation we're in.

"Can you swim?" I ask him hopefully, glad he's got a firm grip on my arm.

"Not very well," Braeden replies cheerfully, and sets off. The only thing I can do is shake my head and follow him.

District 2 – Aveira Malik POV

I'm the third person to reach the island, a minute behind Mellish and Melody. They're already picking through the supplies.

"Grab anything useful!" I call to them, jogging a little way down the beach to help Ember up onto the sand.

"That's kind of what we were doing!" Melody yells back irritably. I roll my eyes, and turn to survey what the rest of the tributes are doing. Most are in the water by now – they must have been brave enough to jump, in the end – but a few are still stuck on their platforms. "Where are Zircon and Terric?" I ask Ember.

"Titan was right behind me, I haven't seen Zircon," she shrugs. "They've got parachutes!" At my quizzical look, she explains, "In the belt. You know we've got two buttons on the belt? One of them activates a bomb, which blew that first girl up, and the other activates a parachute. District 10 figured it out."

She nods out at the water, and sure enough, there are both District 10 tributes, bobbing slowly but surely towards us, unharmed. There's someone else with a parachute floating behind them a while away, but I can't see who they are. Nobody else, it seems, has decided to take the risk with the belts after seeing the 6 girl blow herself up.

"Then they'll be the first to get here," I agree. "Come on – we need some weapons."

Titan joins us a few minutes later, and we're about halfway through looking through the supplies when the District 10 tributes reach land. Grinning, I swing my sword back and forth in my hand and straighten up to meet them, nodding at Ember.

"You need any help?" Titan calls.

"No, we're good. They're easy pickings," Ember replies, malice glinting in her eyes. Titan nods, but I'm a bit nervous to leave him alone with Mellish and Melody. He almost looks like he wants to eat them sometimes, and I still haven't found out what they've done to aggravate him.

The 10 boy is speaking urgently to his district partner, gesturing to the forest in the distance as if telling her to run there and hide while he tackles the Cornucopia. She'll have to swim again to reach there, however, and we'll get her then.

Glancing behind me, I realise a few more tributes have reached the other side of the island, including the District 3 and 5 girls. There are about ten of us here now, half of us being Careers, but Titan, Mellish and Melody are spreading out to fight now and someone could much more easily snatch something from the Cornucopia.

Ember and I approach the District 10 tributes. I've heard rumours of them being a couple, and as I catch sight of their hands clinging on to each other, I see Ember smirk. How much is she going to enjoy killing two lovers?

Without warning, Ember runs at them, and the 10 girl's eyes widen almost comically as she tries to drag herself and her supposed boyfriend out of the way. Grabbing her firmly by the hand, the boy dodges Ember's sword just in time and sprints towards the Cornucopia. Snarling, Ember chases after them and I follow, aiming for the girl and leaving the boy to my fellow ally.

Grabbing the closest thing to him, a knife, the boy – I've just randomly remembered his name is Braeden – swings round to meet us and yells something at his ally. This time she obeys him, swinging one large backpack onto her shoulder and making a run for it. Slashing at her, I manage to cut a deep gash in her calf. She screams, but miraculously doesn't go down, and sprints ahead. I let her go – she probably can't even swim to the land beyond this island. I've got other people to target.

District 7 – Alondra Abella POV

I can't swim, I can't swim, I really can't swim.

I'd ended up jumping down from the platform. The water stung my skin so badly I was buzzing all over, but it was better than the alternative – choosing between two buttons on my belt. Even now I was terrified of accidentally pushing one as I struggle. I have to get this belt off as soon as possible.

It isn't even a flotation device! It's a belt filled with bombs, and apparently a parachute, but it doesn't even help me bob along! I can barely keep my mouth of the water as I splash around wildly, arms flailing and probably the laughing stock of the Capitol right now. I'd like to see them try and do this.

And then, out of nowhere, Milton is there, towing Katriel along behind him.

"Need a hand?" he calls.

"Nope, I was having a whale of a time here!" I say sarcastically, grabbing on to his offered hand.

Katriel can swim well enough, I can't swim at all, but Milton must be a stowaway from District 4 or something, because he takes to water like a fish, or something. He pulls me along easily, and we're at the island before we know it.

Actually, I think I preferred it back in the water.

"We could swim round!" I suggest, knowing already that it's not a possibility.

"No, we won't last the night without supplies," Katriel says. Huh, Katriel, the voice of reason. Who'd have thought it?

The boys haul themselves up onto the beach. Ember and Braeden are fighting viciously by the Cornucopia, one armed with a sword and one with only a knife. It's pretty impressive that Braeden's still holding his own against her. Aveira is fighting Laurath Cavernson, metal clanging against metal, neither showing any signs of letting up the fight. Titan is wielding two weapons in both hands, approaching the District 6 boy, who will surely never see him coming as he climbs out of the water. Does he even know it was his sister who was blown up? Lusinderra – I heard somebody call her Lusa – is sprinting for the other end of the island, a blue backpack on her shoulder. I'm surprised no one is going after her. Everyone else is still in the water.

"We're just going to have to go in for it," Milton decides, and Katriel and I nod reluctantly.

Before we can change our minds, we set off running.

Somehow, we manage to dodge Mellish and Melody, who are looking the other way at a few approaching tributes helping each other out the water. Ember, Braeden, Aveira and Laurath are still busy, and don't notice us coming up. I can hardly believe our luck, until –

Zircon comes out of nowhere.

He wasn't even on the island five seconds ago! But it doesn't matter now, because he's coming up behind us, behind me, wielding a spear and heading straight for me, the slowest member of our little group –

He completely ignores me.

He doesn't even spare me a glance as he rushes past. For a split second, I puzzle over it. _Why did he let me go? _I was right there, just a jab of his arm away. And he let me go.

I'm confused for a split second too long. Because it's only at the last moment I hear Katriel's yell, and remember I have two other allies ahead of me. But it's not Katriel who's in trouble.

It's Milton. Zircon is a few feet behind him, taking aim. I let out of a shriek of horror and anger.

"NO!"

But the spear glides through him so easily, it's almost as if he's a wisp of smoke. There's a sickening sound of flesh ripping and blood spluttering and pain, pain, pain –

Milton falls, his expression the perfect picture of surprise, face-forward onto the ground.

He's dead. I already know that. The spear killed him instantly. But that doesn't stop me from running to him and hoping.

Zircon yanks his spear free from Milton's body, and carefully avoids my eyes as he takes off again. I want to run after him, attack him, make him pay for killing someone so small. Someone only a year younger than him. But I wouldn't stand a chance, because I'm unarmed and, if I'm being honest with myself, a little hysterical.

"Alondra! Hurry, we need to go!" Somehow, Katriel has been to the Cornucopia and back to fetch us a backpack, a loaf of bread and a few weapons. He casts a glance at Milton's body. "Leave him! He's gone, we've got to get off the island!"

Katriel, the voice of reason. I can't believe he's being the responsible one, but I suppose he's got no choice now that practical Milton is gone.

The Games are changing us already.

District 12 – Lennox Harper POV

Run. I need to run.

As soon as I reach the island, I cast a desperate glance around me. Nearly everyone is up and fighting. There are a few stragglers in the water, but I don't have time to try and recognise them.

The swim has given most of us an extreme disadvantage. The best swimmers were there waiting for everyone when they finally got there, but now that all of them are engaged in fighting, I've got a chance to make up for the lost time.

Zipping in between pairs of fighting tributes, I leap over a boy who may or may not be dead. He's groaning loudly, so I guess not. The Cornucopia is just ahead. Bending down, I slow my pace but only for a second so I can firmly grab the handle of a large, green backpack, and then I'm off again, narrowly dodging a knife flying through the air. The backpack is heavy, but that can only mean it's got more stuff in it, or a few really useful, big things. In any case, I can handle it, and haul it onto both shoulders as I make for the other end of the island.

I'm not the only one there.

Lusinderra Barette – I took the time to memorise each person's name and district, and did my best to memorise their strengths and weaknesses too – is standing at the water's edge, looking both unsure of herself and desperate at the same time. She must be waiting for that boyfriend of hers. It's a waste of time, getting into a relationship in the Hunger Games. Why even start something like that? They _know _it's going to end in tears.

Her eyes are scanning the island, casting a glance at the water, then scanning the island again. Hoping Braeden Koi will come and get her. Too terrified to take to the water herself.

I can hardly blame her. I'm not exactly an elite swimmer myself, and the swim from my podium to the island probably took a year off my life.

Well. A year if… anyway. I know what I mean.

With a start, I realise she's armed with a knife. She probably couldn't do much damage to me, but the point is, she's armed and I'm not. And she's probably a better fighter than me anyway.

I'm considering wheeling around and heading in another direction, unsure of whether Lusinderra will attack me or not, when I see Lusinderra's eyes widen and her jaw drop. She's not looking at me, though – she's staring straight over my shoulder.

That can only mean one thing.

I veer so violently to the left that I almost skid and fall onto the ground. But it's a good job I did so, because a split second later, Ember Maloff's sword plunges down exactly where I would have been. But when it only finds soft grass and earth, Ember turns to me and glares.

My heart sinks into my shoes.

She must have been running to get to Lusinderra – maybe she's already killed Braeden, I didn't ever put a name to the boy lying on the ground groaning – but then I got in her way, and now I'm top priority. Snarling, she turns to me and swings.

I duck just in time. I can feel the breeze of the blade ruffle my hair, and leap to the right just in time. Backing up quickly, Ember follows at a kind of march. She thinks she's got this one in the bag. Oh, God, she probably has, as well. I've no way of defending myself, unless I can keep dodging and somehow make it to the water.

So that's what I decide to do.

Turning quickly on my heel, I launch into a run, darting this way and that to confuse her. The water's edge is only about twenty feet ahead. I can make it, I can make it, I can make it…

A sudden pressure on my back, and all the air is knocked out of me. Landing on the ground, I roll over and Ember is straddling me, pinning me down. With a malicious smirk on her face, she raises the sword above her head, ready to slam it down into my heart. This is it; no way I can escape this.

_Please don't let Mum or Dad be watching this…_

Ember coughs.

Droplets of blood splatter on my face.

Confused for just a moment, I watch surprise flicker on Ember's pretty face. The sword falls out of her hand, but it lands harmlessly on the grass beside me. Then she falls to the side, crumpling in a heap. I sit up, scramble to stand – and there's Braeden Koi, his own blood-caked sword hanging limply from his hand, breathing hard.

I stare at him.

He stares at me.

"Well, she was getting on my nerves," he shrugs.

I don't wait around. Nodding to him – because he just saved me life, but he could suddenly decide to stab me there and then – I take off, the backpack bumping on my back. I don't look back at Braeden or Lusinderra or Ember's dead body. I just hope Braeden understood my message of thanks, and run.

District 2 – Titan Ashes POV

It turns out rounding up the stragglers is nearly as good as being in the midst of the fighting, because there are a hell of a lot of stragglers.

Armed with my sword and an axe I picked up just so District 7 couldn't have it, I prowl around the edges of the island. More and more people are starting to rush away from the Cornucopia and towards the water now that there have been deaths and injuries and the supplies have nearly been cleaned out.

I heard the explosion which was apparently a girl accidentally blowing herself up, according to Aveira. The idiot. And I watched Zircon run someone else through with a spear, after popping up out of nowhere. That's two definitely dead. I don't know what Aveira and Ember are doing with the District 10 pair, but the last time I saw Mellish, he was fighting the District 11 boy, and Melody has disappeared. Probably got scared of all the terrifying little weapons and scarpered with her tail between her legs. No matter – she'll be the first one we hunt down, and I'll be sure to make it personal.

The girl with white hair, the girl Ember wanted in our alliances, is sprinting towards the beach, two backpacks and a sheath of arrows on her back, the bow in her hands. Well, we can't have one person taking all that – it's much too greedy. Besides, if she really is as clever as Ember claims, she might be worth taking out now.

I run after her. She must have good hearing, because she doesn't have to look behind her to know someone's coming, and she speeds up her pace. In her haste, one backpack slips off her shoulder and she stumbles over it, losing time. I can almost see her trying to decide, in that split second, if it's worth picking the bag back up and losing two seconds, but it's a split second too late – I've caught up with her and her eyes widen with fright.

Her arrows – which I doubt she can use anyway – will be useless here. I raise the sword and slash at her leg. She neatly sidesteps the blow, and ducks when I swing the axe at her head. Suddenly, a knife is in her hand – was she hiding that in the waistband of her trousers? – and she makes a badly-aimed stab at my chest, then my throat. Growling, I attack with the sword again and it makes contact this time, slicing a nice gash in her side. Peridot – huh, strange that I'd remember her name when I'm about to kill her – cries out, and tries to stab me again with the knife. This one is even more badly aimed. She ends up cutting my cheek, but it's quite deep. I'm so shocked that I lose focus for a second – and before I know it, I'm on the ground.

Peridot has grabbed me and flipped me over her shoulder, my weapons being flung aside in the process. _How the hell did she manage that? _Now isn't exactly the best time to ask, and as she reaches to stab me once more with that knife of hers, I grab her hand as it comes down and twist her arm violently. She yelps in pain, and I can tell I've broken her arm. With one arm useless, Peridot is spurred on by anger and pain and goes for my throat. I roll over so I'm on top of her, and we grapple around, punching and kicking and biting.

We're both bruised and bloody by the time I manage to curl my fingers around the handle of my nearby axe. Peridot's eyes widen in realisation as she see the axe flying towards her suddenly, when just a moment before we were both unarmed.

The sound is sickening.

Peridot cries out, coughs and struggles for a few moments, one hand still gripping my neck, and then she falls silent. Wiping blood from my mouth, I leave the axe there lodged in her chest. It'll either be taken up by the helicopter that collects her or retrieved by somebody who can face pulling it out. It's not as if I need it.

"Hey, Aveira!" I yell, seeing her racing across the island towards a small group of people. "Have you seen –"

But I'm cut off by her scream. "_Ember!" _she shrieks, and only just remembering to pick up Peridot's backpacks, I run over to her.

"What the –"

A girl is lying face down, motionless, on the ground, but it's obvious it's Ember. She's either been stabbed with a sword or a knife. Out in the water, I see the District 10 pair swimming away as quickly as possible, and a little way over, another girl.

"I'll kill them!" Aveira shouts, marching straight over Ember's body and wading into the water.

"Aveira, we'll get them later!" I call, but she ignores me and powers towards the trio in the water.

Better just leave her to it.

District 8 – Lupine Yarok POV

I'm not sticking around to fight.

I decided that ages ago. Sure, I probably _could _fight – and win – but I'd rather not. In fact, I was planning on grabbing a weapon, hopefully something else useful, and taking off under the thickest shelter I could see.

That was before I saw all the water.

I'm not a particularly good swimmer. How can I be, coming from District 8? Apparently nobody cares, because I still had to swim all the way here, which was hardly a picnic, and I'll have to swim all the way back out again to get to safety and hope I don't meet anyone waiting for me on the other side.

The other side.

Oh, crap. I've just realised: the Careers will have somebody, if not a few people, stationed on the beach that leads to the rest of the arena and so-called safety, to catch those who make it over to the other side. What a nasty surprise that'll be. You finally reach land, only to find there's someone there waiting to plunge a knife through your heart or something.

In fact, I should probably be speeding up now.

Armed with a dagger, some containers of what looks like soup, and a sheet of tarpaulin, I skirt around the edge of the fighting and make my way towards the water. I didn't dare venture any further towards the Cornucopia to get something more valuable. Mellish Reed doesn't even spare me a glance as I sprint past him, or maybe he doesn't see me. He's just stabbed someone in the stomach and must think they're dead, because he strides off in the other direction. The blood coming from his victim's stomach glistens in the glaring sunlight, but the tribute is still alive. I can hear him – it's definitely a guy – because he's groaning and clearly unable to move or drag himself away. I don't look at him. Someone will be along to finish him off soon, and I don't fancy watching that.

I'm readying myself to dive into the water and power ahead at full speed when I hear someone calling my name.

"Lu! Lupine!"

Oh, no. For God's sake.

Why? Why _me? _What the hell did I do in a past life to deserve this?

Nevertheless, I turn around, prepared to slash Tristan Thorin's throat if needs be. Well, so what if he kissed me a few days ago? It doesn't mean he likes me. For all I know, that could be boy-code for, _You're first on my hit list._

Tristan doesn't appear to even notice the dagger in my hand. He looks more scared than I've ever seen him, which somehow looks strange on him. Tristan just doesn't do scared, or anxious, or anything of the sort.

"Help me!" he cries desperately, voice somewhat strangled. "Please, Lu, help him!"

Help him? Help _who?_

And that's when I realise who Tristan is kneeling beside. It's the boy Mellish stabbed through the stomach before. Ruse Carnegie.

"I –" Torn, I don't know what to say, so I look around wildly instead, like the answer will be among all the fighting tributes and flashing weapons and blood and gore. Someone stumbles past with a gash in her thigh so deep you can see the bone. Swallowing, I turn back to Tristan and Ruse.

Ruse, Tristan's ally. They wanted to ally with me. Or Tristan wanted to ally with me – I'm not entirely sure where Ruse stood, but I do know if someone doesn't get him out of here now, it's only a matter of minutes before he either bleeds to death or someone notices that he's still alive, and making that fact very well-known. I shouldn't care. I really shouldn't.

"OK," I say quickly, nodding in case he couldn't hear me. Tristan's mouth sets in a grim line, and wordlessly, we haul Ruse up between us, his arms slung over our shoulders.

How the hell are we going to manage this? Ruse has a _massive gaping hole _in his stomach, for God's sake. Tristan and I aren't good swimmers, but we're going to have to keep a dying teenager alive and afloat as well as ourselves now. How long does Ruse have left? Minutes? Even if we can stop the bleeding, it might still be too late. If this is a whole waste of time, I'm going to kill Tristan. That would be nice – I'd be alone and much better off again.

I could've said no.

But I didn't, and I'm still not entirely sure why. Maybe the expression on Tristan's face scared me. Maybe I didn't actually want Ruse to die. I keep telling myself it's because I still have a shred of humanity left in me, but I'm not certain that's why I didn't refuse Tristan. And Ruse, of course.

We make it into the water, and here comes the hard part. Too late we recognise Aveira Malik ahead of us. If she turns round and sees us… well. We're just going to have to pray that the District 10 couple are her top priority right now.

We'll just have to pray for a lot of things.

District 9 – Birch Laurel POV

How Jay got down from the platform, I'll probably never know.

But somehow, he did, and together we managed to drag Hamlet towards the island. We were the last tributes left in the water – everybody else was fighting, running, or already escaping. I would have been embarrassed if I wasn't terrified for my life.

"Run!" I yell to Jay and Hamlet, wincing at Jay's crutches. "Or – try to get as far away as you can. Wait for me. I'll be back soon."

They weren't exactly clear instructions, but they'll have to do, because Zircon Terric is barrelling straight towards me and that spear of his looks pretty damn scary.

I start running, and thankfully Zircon comes after me, rather than the other two. Maybe he thinks I'm more of a threat. Well, I'm absolutely flattered. Really, I am.

My initial plan was to scarper. Step off my metal circle as soon as the gong sounded, grab Hamlet and Jay, and run like hell towards shelter. Maybe we'd pick up a few useful items on the way, maybe not – all that mattered was that we weren't involved in the fighting. What use would we be? Jay, who has to use crutches to hobble around. Hamlet, who wouldn't know how to handle a weapon if it slapped him in the face. And me, unable to bear the thought of taking another life while trying to watch out for Hamlet and Jay.

Oh, yes, we'd be popular with the sponsors if one of us miraculously managed to get out alive.

But the Gamemakers have us all trapped on this island surrounded by water. A lucky few have managed to get to the other side early, and are on the way to 'safety'. It would probably kill us if we swam all the way around the island instead of crossing it, especially as Hamlet can't swim at all. Only District 4, who probably learnt to swim before they learnt how to crawl, could swim that distance without stopping. The rest of us are forced to reach the island to recover before the torturous swim to land.

And now we're here, I might as well try and get my hands on something useful, a backpack or a couple of weapons. So it's me running into the midst of the fighting with Cornucopia items strewn all over the place, leaving Hamlet and Jay to hopefully steer clear of everything and get a move on. Well, I'd rather it was me that die in the bloodbath and not them.

Laurath Cavernson appears from nowhere, and it looks like she's going to attack me when she runs straight past. As soon as I see her, I think of Ebanie Streeter. Has Laurath targeted her yet? But I can't see Ebanie or her district partner anywhere. Come to think of it, there are whole districts missing that I can't see at a quick scan of the island. District 3. District 10. District 5. District 8. Where the hell is everybody? Four districts haven't been wiped out already, have they?

Oh, that's right, they're probably five crucial minutes ahead of Jay, Hamlet and I. I'm pretty sure no one is as disadvantaged as us right now, but I'm not complaining. I'd rather have useless and lovely allies than no allies at all.

I glance behind me. Zircon has disappeared, off to scare some other unsuspecting person. Ahead of me, I can see battling tributes, hear the clink of weapons, see bodies lying on the ground. Injuries, everywhere. A boy I recognise from District 11 with a massive, bloody wound in his stomach. A girl with her hair covering her face, somehow managing to stay up with a gash in her thigh so deep I don't want to look any further. Another boy, flinging around a mace around with a dagger sticking out of his shoulder. The sight of everything makes my stomach heave, and when I taste the vomit in the back of my throat, I consider that perhaps going straight for the Cornucopia wasn't the brightest idea.

Well, it's not as if we _need _those big backpacks.

Veering to the left, I bend down and scoop up a loaf of bread, a wad of blankets, and a flashlight that have all been left untouched. I'm aware it's a pitiful supply, but I'm willing to bet there were tributes who escaped with nothing, and it's better than what I'd hoped for. Deciding that this haul is enough, I make a run for it.

Titan Ashes spots me, and starts towards me, axe raised above his head in anticipation. Fear sinks in, sending adrenaline running through my veins. I realise how numb I felt before – I was scared of dying, yes, but not really prepared for it. But now I can actually see my death approaching, I find myself running faster.

Titan's grim face is in my field of vision now. Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap. Please let Hamlet and Jay escape, why didn't I grab a weapon? Please let Hamlet and Jay escape, please let them escape!

The sound of an axe slicing through flesh and blood splattering on the back of my neck makes the urge to puke rise to the surface again. But it's not my flesh. _It's not my flesh._

Titan's hit somebody else! I probably should be feeling sorry for them right now, but I'm alive, and I can use the time Titan is distracted with his latest kill to escape. No, bad Birch! Don't think like that, that's cruel! That's horrible! Somebody died in the place of you! I can't believe I'm rejoicing in that fact. I'm never that awfully selfish. But I can't afford to be –

"Birch! Over here!"

I make a beeline for Jay's voice. Hamlet is nowhere in sight.

"Where is he?" I demand of Jay, as soon as I reach him. He's shaking, Jay is actually shaking. This isn't like Jay – Jay is confident, sure of himself, puts up with things. Then again, I suppose the bloodbath would make most sane people feel violently sick, I know I did… "Jay? What happened to Hamlet?"

"He's dead, Titan got him," Jay says in a rush, like getting out the words faster will make it less painful. "Well, Titan got him first, then Zircon finished him off."

It dawns on me far too slowly. Titan's axe hitting flesh… that was Hamlet's flesh. Hamlet was behind me, probably too worried about me to stand there and wait for me to return to them. He was watching my back, like the sweetheart he is. _Was. _He couldn't stay away, because he's possible the single most decent person in these I had been the one killed by Titan… if I had just run and not entered the midst of the fighting in the first place… Hamlet wouldn't be dead. If it wasn't for me, we'd all three still be alive and on our way out. No supplies, but alive. It hits me like a tonne of bricks.

I killed Hamlet.

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><p><strong>AN: Eulogies! I just kind of feel compelled to do these.<strong>

**Hamlet: I regret killing you. I really, really do. You were one of my favourites, I'm so sad to see you go, but it had to be done. I hope wherever you are now is more beautiful than the Hunger Games.**

**Ember: Your death wasn't planned, but unfortunately that was the way it played out - but don't think the Careers are going to settle down now you're gone. I'm sure you'll still terrorise as many people as possible even from the grave.**

**Milton: You were such a sweetheart, and so young, but you couldn't have made it past the bloodbath. It was your time to go, I'm afraid. I'm happy you didn't suffer.**

**Peridot: I didn't know you that well, I couldn't figure you out, but that was all part of your tricky character. There's so much you could have done had you not been caught by Titan's axe, but that boy rarely misses and you didn't stand much of a chance, I'm afraid.**

**Darcy: Your death was the most tragic of all. Essentially, you killed yourself, but it was all down to the evil minds of the Gamemakers (ahem, me) putting the bombs in your belts. You didn't deserve to die so quickly, but it was needed to add that little bit more drama.**

**R.I.P!**

**Some of you might want to be thinking about spending your sponsor points sometime soon. Go on, have a little review. ^.^**


	9. The Aftermath

**AN: This chapter is quite short. There was only so much I could write without giving people a chance to save their tributes, and I didn't want to be unfair (some of you don't even know if your tribute is injured yet). Read and enjoy.**

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><p><span>District 6 – Alexander Nuostabus POV<span>

Numb.

I feel numb. Cold. Lost. Where am I? Nowhere near the Cornucopia island, that's for sure. I remember running, grabbing something measly from the warzone and still getting caught up in the bloodbath. I remember fighting the District 4 boy with no weapons. He had a trident pressed to my throat. I escaped, but I don't remember how. I made it across the water, miraculously didn't drown or swallow a gulp of the unmistakable red water which could only have been filled with one thing, and I must have reached land.

I don't know how long I've been walking. I should be paying more attention, getting my bearings, listening for anyone sneaking up on me. I'm in some sort of forest. That's normal enough, I suppose.

Of course, I don't know what normal is anymore after Darcy.

A twig snaps. I only hear it because I know I didn't make the sound. At least, I don't think I did.

But no, it's definitely someone or something else. For the first time, I remember the muttations the Gamemakers are likely to have created. A human wouldn't be making as much noise as this thing id. It sounds like it's stumbling, as if injured and in too much pain to care about noise.

I turn around, eyes scanning the trees and remembering myself again. I can't die now, not after… well, my parents' eyes will be on me, watching like a hawk. They'll have reluctantly admitted that I'm their only hope now, and might actually want me to win.

Yeah, right. Don't get your hopes up, Alex.

I steel myself for an attack, before realising I don't have a weapon. Bread was all I grabbed from the Cornucopia in my dizzy state, and unless I whack somebody over the head with that –

A branch. A thick, long branch, broken off from a tree, lying just to my right. It's heavy, but I can hold it, and quietly pick it up and pick a stance to meet whoever is hiding out in the forest. It might not be a proper weapon, but with my strength, it could do a whole lot of damage.

The muttation, or the injured tribute – whatever it is – is getting closer. I can hear the disturbance of the forest getting louder and louder until it's pounding in my ears. The forest feels alive. Not the muttations or whatever else the Gamemakers have placed in here. The actual forest.

A shadow looms from the dense trees. A figure begins to take shape, and it's definitely limping, stumbling. It's injured in its leg. I grip the branch with both hands and advance forward, keen to strike with all my strength and put the creature out of its misery.

Out from behind a tree steps the last thing I expected to see. A girl.

She hauls herself forward, sort of dragging her injured leg behind her. She doesn't even glance at the branch in my hands, isn't put off by my glare. Maybe she can't see much at all.

The girl stops about ten feet away. Her frizzy red hair is wild, all over the place, and her clothes torn. I'm only just starting to recognise her face – and the unmistakable hair – when she whispers, "Help me."

District 4 – Melody Cross POV

Our plan to take the Cornucopia isn't really a plan anymore.

It's more something only an idiot would be foolish enough to do. With the island surrounded by water, there would be no easy access onto or off the island. That means we'd be safe from attackers, yes – but it would also mean we would be more or less cut off from everybody else. Only Mellish and I would be able to swim back and forth every day on the hunt for tributes, but that's tiring even for us. And I doubt Aveira, Titan and Zircon – who is the most bloodthirsty of us all – would be happy sitting around twiddling their thumbs.

So once all the other tributes that aren't dead have escaped – some more badly injured than others – we pack up everything we can carry and head back to land, where Aveira should be waiting.

But when we climb onto the beach, clothes soaked and energy pretty much drained of every part of us, Aveira is nowhere to be seen.

"If she's gone and gotten herself killed chasing those District 10 lovebirds –" Zircon snarls.

I glance at him, frowning slightly. He changed into a different person during the bloodbath. With his constant smile I've never seen him without, and his 'nice boy' attitude, it was a bit unnerving to see him come alive and act so ruthlessly. I guess I'd let myself believe he was like me: one of the good guys. A Career with a heart.

Mind you, that smile was starting to get a bit freaky.

"She's smarter than that," Titan assures him. Zircon sighs.

"I hope she killed them both," he mutters. "There aren't nearly enough dead."

"Well, there are five bodies on the island," I pipe up, causing all the guys to look at me like they've just realised I'm here. "And the boy Mellish stabbed in the stomach. Oh, and the girl who had that nasty gash in her thigh."

"I suppose they're not likely to make it through the night," Mellish agrees.

"And there was Ember," I add quietly.

Titan shrugs. "She wasn't much of a loss, anyway."

"She was a good fighter," I say fairly. I didn't like the girl – most of the time, I wanted to grab hold of her perfect pretty ponytail and yank it really, really hard – but she was hardly useless. In any case, it seems unfair for the boys to talk trash about her.

"When were you such a big fan?" Mellish raises an eyebrow.

I blush.

"Right, then, let's go and find Aveira," Mellish says briskly, shouldering his backpack as he sets off down the beach. Titan follows without a word and Zircon falls behind them, head ducked, mumbling. Is he giving himself a pep talk?

"Oh, yes, let's go and find your runaway girlfriend, never mind we haven't had any time to prepare or recover from this morning," I grumble as I trail behind the three boys.

Luckily, I don't think they heard me.

District 5 – Gabriel Thorp POV

Thank God the bloodbath is over. It was impossible for me to plan ahead for that, and it threw me off even more once I got a good look at my surrounding. The Gamemakers expecting us to jump that distance, into icy waters that nearly killed us, or put our faith in pressing a button, was crazy. It makes me nervous for whatever the rest of the arena might have to offer. Still, I shouldn't be surprised, and now I know to expect much worse than fifty-feet drops into freezing cold water, at least.

I'm not one to panic. But the bloodbath surprised me… shocked me, even. My senses were oddly numbed, indifferent to everything going on around me when I finally kicked myself out of my reverie and reached the island. Blood, yells, weapons, bodies. It all merged into some blur, something I was pretending not to notice, and I willed myself through the battle, trying to leave the horrors to dwell on later. Even now, I'm trying not to think of the spear gliding effortlessly through that young boy, some of the more terrible wounds. The malice, satisfaction, in a few tributes' eyes as they made a kill. I suppose it looks different on TV. It's awful, but you're not actually there. In all my planning, I forgot to prepare myself for the reality of it all.

And OK, so I don't have an especially strong stomach.

I didn't pick up a lot – just enough to survive for now. I was more focused on slipping past the bloodbath unnoticed, and amazingly, I did. After I'd escaped the radar of the Careers and everyone else, I found a wide tree to hide under and took a look at what I'd actually collected. A knife – I knew I would need a weapon above anything else, so it was the first thing I grabbed. A couple of orange tin cans, which are probably full of soup and could have at least come with a can opener. And a sleeping bag. That's pretty valuable, or it would be, if it weren't bright, glow-in-the-dark green.

Still, I'm reasonably pleased with my haul. The sleeping bad will keep me warm as long as I can hold onto it, and I can ration the soup with fruit, nuts and berries I find. After two days tops, however, I'm going to have to start hunting for food, unless I want to become food.

Maybe I should have grabbed more cans of soup.

I've been trekking through the dense forest for at least five hours now. My feet are sore, and the temperature is similar to that of the rainforest. I need to find somewhere to sleep – after camouflaging my neon flashing sign of a sleeping bag – eat, and think of a strategy for tomorrow. If I get far enough away, I should be safe for tonight. I'll take this day by day, depending on the situation each night.

Wiping sweat from my forehead, I lean against the closest tree to catch my breath. It must be nearly evening, and yet the heat has gotten, if anything, more severe and more stifling. Change of plan: don't stop until a water source is found.

That's when I break through the tree line and see the city.

District 10 – Braeden Koi POV

"Lusa? You OK?" I call over my shoulder.

"Never been better!" she yells back, sounding out of breath and haggard.

I throw a glance back at her, flagging as she falls further and further behind with every minute. We've been ploughing though this ridiculously dense forest for hours now. Every single freaking tree looks exactly the same, and for all we know, we could just be venturing further into some sort of trap. Or nothing. Or anything. I don't even know anymore and I'm close to not caring.

It finally hit me about what I judge to be two hours ago. _I killed Ember. _Ember was a bitch, she nearly killed Lusa and I, she needed to be gotten rid of as quickly as possible. But I still killed another person, felt the blade of my sword slide easily through her flesh, ending her life there and then…

I didn't want to hold this sword anymore. It made me feel dirty. But at the same time, we needed it, and I couldn't exactly throw it away into the shrubbery that made a vague sort of path for us to follow. No, we needed this sword, and I was going to have to get used to using it. Most of all, I was going to have to get over myself, for Lusa's sake above anything else.

"Lusa, come on. We need to keep moving." I stride forward purposefully, as if that'll make her speed up. When she doesn't respond, I stop and turn around.

Lusa is sitting on the ground, looking a bit like a toddler stubbornly refusing to get up, and I smile despite myself.

"Lusa? Are you hurt?" I kneel down beside her, and she rubs her temples as she shakes her head.

"Nope… fine… just… tired." Her eyelids start to close as if to prove her point. It would be kind of inconvenient for her to fall asleep in the middle of the forest when new haven't found shelter or food or water yet, so I shake her gently.

"Stay with me, Lusa. We've got to keep going… just for a little while. Then you can sleep, I promise."

She nods, looking slightly dazed, and wobbles a bit as I help her stand up.

"Here, I'll take that for you –" I go to take the blue backpack from her, but Lusa leans away from me.

"No, no, I can take it. I'm strong too." And she hoists the bag further up her shoulder and marches on, staggering a few times like a drunkard, but still carrying on. Shaking my head at her stubbornness, I follow her footsteps, making sure to keep slightly behind to keep an eye out for attackers.

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><p><strong>AN: PM me if you've lost count of how many points you have and I'll tell you. I'm in the middle of redoing my profile, so the sponsor gifts aren't up there anymore - all you have to do is PM me and I'll tell you what's available to buy with the number of points you have.<strong>

**Please review!**


	10. The First Night

**AN: So it turns out school and NaNo do affect updating. o.O No more excuses... this isn't edited, I just wanted to get this up tonight in honour of the Hunger Games trailer coming out today! Did anyone else freak out (including excessive screaming and sobbing)? It's all just so perfect... I can't. I just can't.**

**So enjoy this chapter (it was a long time coming), and... review, please?**

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><p><span>District 8 – Tristan Thorin POV<span>

"Is he going to die?"

Lu glances up at me from her spot kneeling beside Ruse, trying to get him comfortable. He passed out a while ago. Whether he'll wake up again is a matter of luck, but even I know his chances are practically non-existent.

"I don't know, Tristan," Lu admits, tucking her dark hair behind her ear, none of her usual attitude present. "It doesn't… Tristan, it doesn't look good. You understand, right? It's amazing he's made it this far."

I nod stiffly, because I _do _know. We've been trying to avoid looking at the wound in Ruse's stomach, because it looks like something out of a horror film, and it's just a painful reminder that we can do nothing except wait for him to die. There, it's out there. The words are harsh, but it's the truth. Treatment for an injury like that is expensive, and it's only the start of the Games.

Silence falls as darkness does, the only sound being our shallow breathing. We keep our eyes locked on Ruse's chest, willing it to keep up its steady rise and fall. Lu managed to stop the bleeding of his stomach, but the wound is just _so __big._If it gets infected or anything… I just don't want to wake up tomorrow morning next to a dead body.

"Tristan!" Lu's sharp breath makes me automatically reach for the knife shoved in my pocket. She's stood up, approaching a spot a few yards away covered by dark green shrubs.

"Who's there?" I whisper.

She shakes her head, a small smile forming. "Not who – what. Come here."

Bending down, she picks something up and lugs it back to me. The object is a white box, attached to a silver parachute. "Is that a first aid kit?"

"Sure is," Lu beams, and I look at her wonderingly. So she does care about Ruse. Then I remember our friend is dying and could really use this first aid kit.

"Quickly!" Dropping beside Ruse, Lu empties the kit and scrambles through everything inside. Little pots with blue gel in them, a bottle with gold liquid in it, red pills and another bottle of dark liquid, a syringe. They all mean nothing to me, but two items catch my eye – the bandages and the disinfectant.

Ruse whimpers as Lu very gently pulls back his shirt. "Do we have any water?" she asks me.

"Uh – there was a small bottle in the bag I picked up –"

"Get it out!" she urges, and I hurry to obey. Lu uses the water to clean the dried blood and the wound, clearly trying very hard not to wince too much. Her hands are trembling, and I start to help her out. Soon enough, we're all out of water, but the wound looks a bit cleaner.

Mumbling something to herself, Lu grits her teeth and starts to carefully apply the disinfectant. It's a very thin gel that drips everywhere and rolls off Ruse's stomach, but most of it touches the wound.

"That's the best I can do," Lu says when she's done. "Let's get him bandaged up."

The process takes about half an hour of shifting, nudging, and careful manoeuvring to get the bandages wrapped and secured tightly around Ruse's stomach. He slips in and out of conscious, but doesn't kick up too much of a fuss. I wonder if the pills will help with the pain he'll no doubt be in if – when – he wakes up.

"What's that other stuff?" I ask, leaning against a tree trunk with my arms resting on my knees. Lu frowns, and goes to inspect them.

"Um… these look like medicine for burns and stings," she says, holding up the pots with the blue gel. "I think this is sleep syrup –" she points to the bottle with the gold liquid – "and I recognise the dark liquid as what Kyte forced me to have whenever I had a stomach upset."

"Kyte?"

"My brother. Oh, and the red pills are for fevers."

"Oh." I realise that I know nothing about Lu's family, or what her life was like before se was Reaped. Sure, she's had no reason to tell me anything, but still… "So we can't use the stomach medicine for Ruse?"

"The medicine is more for if you feel sick, or have cramps or something. Not for if you've been stabbed in the gut," Lu responds abruptly. "Do you want to take first watch or shall I?"

I ignore her. Ruse is more or less unconscious, and we've got nothing else to do. I might as well try and _talk _to her – nothing more, no flirting or anything. Tristan the Almighty Warrior and Protector of Things _knows _how to play it subtle. "So does your brother catch the girls' eyes like you caught my eye?"

Correction: he's _learning _how to play it subtle.

Lu's voice becomes steely. "Tristan, we are not friends – or anything more. Just because I saved Ruse's life while you sat there like a sack of potatoes because I'm a decent human being, doesn't mean I'm going to spill my life story." She slides down and curls up, facing away from me. "You can take first watch."

District 4 – Mellish Reed POV

"Titan, weapons report."

Titan glances up at Aveira, eyes narrowing slightly. Since we found her, fuming around in a rage and slashing random plants, Aveira has slipped into the role of leader like she owns the whole arena. I don't know whether it's some kind of superiority complex or what, but Zircon isn't too happy. You can see it in his face, in his actions – he doesn't like being told what to do. None of us do, of course, we'd have been kicked out of the Careers if we were that weak-willed, but I think Zircon has the same need as Aveira to feel better and more powerful than everyone else. And he isn't going to stand for Aveira's bossing him around much longer.

Note to self: Don't let Zircon be the one on watch duty tonight.

"Two swords. One spear. One axe. Two knives – oh, no, one knife. Melody _lost _hers." Said girl just smiles sheepishly. There's a collective sigh.

"No matter – we're well-armed enough. Zircon, food?"

"A loaf of bread, two packets of dried beef strips, two bags of fruit, several cans of soup, a couple portions of rice and lamb, several bread rolls," Zircon practically snarls. Unfortunately, it goes right over Aveira's head.

"Not much," she worries, biting her lip. "We're going to have to make another trip back to the Cornucopia tomorrow. Stock up on supplies. They won't have cleaned it out, will they?"

"We should have just stayed there," Melody grumbles, and Aveira shoots her a withering look.

"We've been _through _this, Melody," she says, in the tone of someone speaking to a very slow five-year-old. "We would have been too vulnerable to attack there. If even one of us was good at handling long-distance weapons, then maybe it would be a different story. Besides – here on land, it's much easier to go tribute hunting." A gleeful smile lights up her pretty face. I inwardly groan – I know she'll want to start picking people off tonight, and all I really want to do is sleep. For days. Without worrying that my throat will be slit or I'll be suffocated or killed in some other nasty way, but that's not a priority.

"Mellish, what about everything else?"

"Uh – I think we've got some first aid stuff… some extra clothes and things… maybe some shelter stuff, or protection or for sleeping or whatever… yeah, we didn't pick up much on the 'everything else' front…"

There's a short pause. "Very descriptive, Mellish. But good job," Aveira smiles sweetly. Alright, so I'll be the first to admit I'm not the sharpest tool in the box – I make my living out of scamming people, what use do I have for education? – but I can tell when someone is being patronising. A barely noticeable smirk graces Titan's lips, so I turn my glare to him.

"Right, who's tired?" Aveira asks brightly.

"Actually, I – " Melody starts to raise her hand, but Aveira cuts her off.

"Wonderful! Let's go catch ourselves some tributes." She shrugs as she picks up her sword, swinging it back and forth casually. "Who knows, if we find that tiny District 3 girl, we can always eat her if we run out food." Zircon smiles calmly, standing up to join her.

Titan's eyes widen slightly, making Aveira laugh and ruffle his hair. "It's a joke, Titan! Though maybe not to Zircon," she adds in a low, serious voice, before clapping her hands. "Oh, Mellish – you're OK sitting this one out with Melody aren't you, sweetie? We need someone to hold down the fort." She smiles at me like I've already agreed with her.

"Of course, _sweetie,__" _I reply pleasantly, giving her an easy grin. And then she, Zircon and Titan are gone, leaving Melody and I alone in the gathering darkness.

District 11 – Laurath Cavernson POV

God, why does running look so easy on television?

I mean, obviously I've run before. I haven't spent my thirteen short years strapped into a wheelchair (or on crutches, District 12 goner). But in previous Games, some tributes don't stop running for _hours, _and they've often got massive backpacks or something as well. I got a stitch three minutes in, and all I'm carrying is a bunch of throwing knives.

Yes, laugh all you want – but these knives were the closest thing I could reach on that island without committing _suicide_, and I'm pretty damn good with them too. At least I didn't leave with nothing.

Point being, I'm sick of running. In fact, I stopped a long while ago, but let's just pretend I'm a lot fitter than I actually am. I got quite far with my adrenaline-powered burst of energy – yes, I'm speedy, but obviously no one cared to mention anything about endurance to me. Endurance should just be built into our genes. It would make life so much easier.

Actually, on second thoughts, a Career with the ability to run and run and just keep running will never equal anything good for me.

There's just forest, everywhere. Is this what the whole arena is like? That scares me – from what I can remember, the simplest arenas usually result in the most dramatic, bloody Games.

So as I go past a tree that looks exactly like every single one before it, my only thought is, "Yippee."

On second thoughts, it's more like a rainforest than a normal forest. Normal forests surely can't be this _hot. _The temperature has been steadily rising since the bloodbath, hours ago, and I'm already sweating like a pig.

I don't even know how much pigs sweat, because I've never studied a sweating pig, so it must be bad.

I rub at my hand, wincing slightly. Something must have bitten me earlier, because my skin has been itching like crazy for an hour or so. There's a small red mark on the palm of my hand, but it's not painful when I press on it – or numb, which could be worse. Sure, the bastard that bit me might have injected me with any kind of poison and I could be dying right now. But it doesn't look bad – it's just so irritating.

Trying to put it to the back of my mind, I decide on a plan of action. Water, food, shelter. In that order. Or should it be water, shelter then food? I'm starving, but then again, I'm always starving. Being around so much food back home and not being allowed any of it kind of makes sure you get used to feeling like that.

As it turns out, the arena makes my decision for me – shelter first.

I can't believe my luck at first, when I see the town laid out in front of me – before my common sense kicks in. There must be fifty buildings here, at least, some more spread out than others. They're in varying sizes, some made of stone and some of marble, most with tiled roofs. They're all decorated quite extravagantly with gold statues and busts of people I don't recognise, colourful and exotic flowers and plants in the gardens. It's beautiful, I have to admit. Even the sun seems to favour the town over the rest of the arena. The largest building, by far, is in the middle of the small town. Several stone pillars support a kind of triangular roof, sloped either side, with pictures of men on horses. I'm not sure how to describe it effectively, except that it's impressive and looks nothing like they would have in the Capitol or any of the districts. It must be from centuries ago, at least, well before Panem even existed – because I don't recognise any of it.

The whole place is deserted. Will any of the other tributes have found my little town? I don't know how many died in the bloodbath – I missed the cannon firing the number of dead. It seems unlikely that I'll be the only to discover it today – I'm not safe here. But then again, where am I safe?

Darkness is starting to fall again, and the itching in my hand is gradually getting worse. I wish I could do something to soothe it, but for now I just want to fall asleep and forget about it. So I head towards the centre of the mini town, near the massive building, keeping a lookout all the time. Slipping quietly into one of the white houses, I bask in the coolness of the place for a second, before taking off to explore the place. A quick search reveals no hiding tributes, no food – and no water. But there is a bed. And it's a pretty nice place too, but right now I'm not too fussed about the interior design.

Thinking I'll figure out who's died in the coming days, the last thought on my mind is the itch on my hand, growing steadily worse.

District 6 – Alexander Nuostabus POV

"Ebanie?"

"Surprised I made it this far?" she jokes feebly.

I don't laugh. God, that injury in her thigh… you can see the bone. It's like some animal has ripped out a chunk of her flesh – except I know this happened in the bloodbath, which is what makes it even more terrible.

"I'm sorry. About your sister," she whispers. "I didn't expect… I tried to warn her. I tried to shout to her not to press any buttons on the belt."

I glance at her, trying not to let my surprise show. I find, though, it's harder to keep a handle on your emotions when your sister has just been killed. "You did?"

Ebanie nods. "She didn't deserve to die like that."

"What, you mean she deserved to die by the hand of a Career, for example? Or savaged by a mutt?" I snap, fury flaring up. I can't believe Darcy's gone. I can't believe after all I said about protecting her, all that training I made her go through – she was the first to die, anyway. And all because of that annoying habit of hers to panic. There was absolutely nothing I could do… and that's awful, because at least I would have myself to be angry at if I could have done anything at all. But who do I direct my anger towards now?

Ebanie grimaces. "No – I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that –"

I shake my head, and she stops abruptly, looking at me nervously. "Have you got any water?"

"I've got nothing," she shrugs. "It was all I could do to get out with my life."

"Who did that to you?" I gesture to her thigh.

"One of the Career boys." No surprise there, then. "I… I don't know how bad it is."

"I can see the bone, Ebanie," I say harshly, and her eyes fill up with tears. Great.

"Thanks, Nuostabus. Just what I needed to hear." The ghost of a smile passes her face, and I can feel the corner of my own lips lift slightly.

"Shouldn't you be screaming in pain, or something?"

"It just feels numb now, to be honest. It hurt like hell before, but now I don't feel much at all."

I'm no doctor, but even to me that doesn't sound like a good thing. "You can still use your other leg fine, though, right?" I ask.

"Course, how else would I have gotten here?"

I sigh, tossing the branch I'm still holding from one hand to the other. Then, turning away, I say gruffly, "I can't help you. I'm sorry."

"What? No, please – you've got to help me. I'll – I'll die, if you don't!"

"What the hell can I do?" I shout, spinning around, raising the branch a little. "What can I do to help you other than kill you myself to end the misery?"

Ebanie bites her lip, staring at me.

"Please."

District 12 – Jay D'Ouvoir POV

"It wasn't your fault, Birch," I say for what feels like, and probably is, the billionth time.

Casting a glance at my ally, slumped against a tree trunk and so still she could be sleeping, I sigh and set my crutches next to my own log. There's no getting through to her. She had a short adrenaline burst straight after Hamlet's death, when she threw me onto her back and legged it the hell off that island, but a short way into the journey inland, she dropped me – not the nicest thing she's ever done – and completely collapsed. Have you ever tried comforting a teenage girl twice the size of you muscles and height-wise, who is sobbing her heart out? It's not easy, let me tell you. And apart from the occasional, "Why _him_?", Birch hasn't said a word since her sudden breakdown. She thinks it's all her fault that Hamlet is dead.

I'm not quite sure Birch has gotten the whole point of the Hunger Games. People _die._In fact, twenty-three of us are going to die, and Birch and I will almost certainly be among them. It wasn't her fault Hamlet died. Sure, it seems so unfair he was the first to die out of the three of us, being as innocent as he was. It broke my heart too. But this is something Birch needs to snap out of; otherwise we'll both be next.

I glance towards the sky as the anthem starts to play, and out of the corner of my eye Birch stirs. Oh, wonderful. Just what she needs, to see Hamlet's cheerful face in the sky.

I get the shock of my life when the first face in the sky is the scowling District 1 girl. Ember Maloff. I thought she'd be one to make it to the end – what happened to her, then? Then it's Milton Rocksham from District 3, followed by Peridot Reska from District 5. I frown as Darcy Nuostabus appears in the sky. The explosion that killed her rattled me, when I was shaking enough on my podium.

Finally, Hamlet's face. He's smiling, as I expected. A muffled sob comes Birch's direction.

"Rest in peace," I say under my breath, feeling the need to say something. And, OK, I miss him. I miss Hamlet.

But like Birch, I'm going to have to get used to that.

The anthem plays again, and I lean back once more. But it's the scream at the end of the anthem that makes me jerk up again.

Birch's head snaps up towards me. Several pairs of footsteps are coming closer, and I scramble to get my crutches and pull myself up. Birch does the same, quickly coming closer to me. In the moonlight, I can see the tear stains on her cheeks. Now, though, her eyes are wide and terrified.

"You can't run forever!" a taunting, female voice calls. Birch freezes. Isn't that the girl from District 2?

A figure stumbles into our sight, from our hiding spot behind a cluster of trees. I can't make out the face, but I think it's a girl.

"Let me have her," a male voice snarls. Zircon Terric, unmistakable. He, the District 1 girl and another person are coming closer. The girl they're chasing looks petrified, cowering – she's come to a dead end. I can hardly breathe, and Birch isn't moving.

"Getting a bit bloodthirsty, are we?" the District 1 girl laughs. "Go on, then, Zircon – she's yours."

The sound of something whistling through the air. A bloodcurdling scream and metal piercing skin. Then it's silent, and the girl falls back onto the ground with a thud. She lies silent, and even in this light I can make out the pool of blood quickly growing, covering her chest. The Careers let out a whoop of triumph and then we hear their retreating footsteps, running off into the dark.

Birch turns to me, eyes wide in her pale face. I shake my head.

"Shit."

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><p><strong>Who do you think died?<strong>

**AN: I'm a teenage writer, not a doctor. I have no idea how long a person would survive with a certain injury, what treatment they'd need, etc. All I have to go on are numerous war films, and a lot of those soldiers somehow made it to a hospital with horrific injuries. o.O So I'm not exactly an expert. Please forgive me. **

**Any idea on the theme of the arena yet? Laurath's part gave a pretty big clue...**

**Please review, I love hearing your thoughts.**


	11. The Dead Bee

**AN: Hooray for finally updating regularly - at least for now. ;) It seems during my hiatus, most of my reviewers abandoned me... COME BACK, GUYS. PLEASE? Enjoy this chapter.**

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><p><span>District 5 – Gabriel Thorp POV<span>

I step out of the house I took shelter in last night, slugging my small backpack over my shoulder. The city was grand and exquisite, but not exactly subtle. I know I've read about it somewhere, probably multiple times in all the books I read, but I'm still slightly jittery from the bloodbath yesterday and I can't quite put my finger on which era the houses are from. I pray that it will hit me soon, however, because this is probably the theme for the rest of the arena.

I'd picked the smallest house on the edge of the small city, deliberately avoiding the centre because the large, pillared stone building is exactly the place the Careers would make a beeline for if they stumbled upon this clearing. I can't stay here, though. After being up most of the night – more like all of the night, actually – I've come to the conclusion that it would be better to keep moving. If I make sure I don't spend more than one night in one place and keep covering my tracks, it'll be more difficult for anyone to trace me. So under no consequences will I stick around longer than I must.

Besides, I have my sleeping bag, so unlike most of the other tributes, I can afford to leave this place of sanctuary. Shoving my knife in the pocket of my trousers for easy access, I peer around me for any telltale signs of tributes hiding, waiting to ambush me. The crunch of a twig, a slight rustle in the leaves, a dark shape out the corner of my eye.

But there's nothing. It's eerily silent, like a ghost town.

Am I really the only one here?

Taking one last look back at the house, I turn my back on the city and take a few steps into the forest again before I have an idea. Picking a thick, light brown leaf from a tree, I find a small, sharp stick to go with it. The leaf is almost like paper, tough and small enough to fit in my backpack. With the twig, I scratch a house-shaped picture into the middle of the leaf – because the city is likely to be the middle of the arena – and label it 'city', adding a prominent dot for my own house. I glance at the sun, just rising at the crack of dawn and peeking over the treetops I remember emerging from last night. That must be east, then, so I scratch it where I think north, east, south and west are from where I stand now. It's not the best map in the world, but it'll help.

Above my head, in the sunny sky, I think I can hear a distant, low rumble. But the sky is empty – there's nothing ominous on the horizon. I must be imagining things. And I can't afford to do that.

District 10 – Lusinderra Barette POV

"Hey, Braeden. You hear that?"

I shake him gently and he shoots up, eyes wide as he looks wildly around, scrabbling around for his sword.

"Sshh, calm down, I just want to know if you hear it too."

Braeden nods, and sits still. We both listen hard for a minute or two, but whatever I heard, it's gone now.

"What did you hear?" Braeden asks softly.

"Something rumbling. You know, like what you get right before a storm. But I think it's stopped now."

Braeden grimaces, getting up and stretching his limbs. "A storm would be absolutely perfect right now. _Rain _would be perfect. I thought this was supposed to be a rainforest?"

"Maybe it's just a very hot forest." Braeden raises his eyebrows at me. "I don't know, I'm tired."

"Crap. How long was I asleep for?" he asks worriedly. "You should've woken me up sooner."

"It's fine, we got equal hours of watch. At least, I think we did – do you reckon the Careers found a watch in the Cornucopia?"

Braeden snorts. "As if, they never give you anything that high tech. Are you okay to move on now?"

"Yeah." I wriggle out of the thin, black sleeping bag Braeden forced me to take last night. "You're getting the sleeping bag tonight."

"You need it more."

"I'm not that delicate! Tell you what, I'll eat more food if you take the sleeping bag tonight."

He nudges me. "Mhm, you drive a hard bargain." I grin up at him, frowning when his face falls.

"What is it?"

"Sshh."

Obediently, I close my mouth and unconsciously hover closer to Braeden. There's something disturbing the forest up ahead of us – and it sounds _massive. _A muttation? It must be. It sounds as if it's literally mowing down the forest, crushing everything in its path to get to us.

"Lusa, get behind me," Braeden says in a hushed voice.

"What? No. No way."

"That wasn't a choice." And he steps determinedly in front of me. I sigh irritably – it's useless arguing with Braeden, over _anything. _I've learnt that much so far.

A deafening roar rips through the forest, and then the muttation bursts through the trees. Even Braeden staggers back a bit, because before stands a lion, the first lion I've ever seen in person and so much bigger than any pictures I've seen. I didn't even know if lions existed anymore… but then, this is a muttation. The Capitol can make anything happen.

"Get back, Lusa, now!" Pulling me behind a tree, Braeden breathes hard a few times.

"What the hell is that?"

"I don't know, but it's not something you'd see in a normal zoo."

And then he leaps out from behind the tree, taking almighty stabs at the lion's fur. "Braeden!" I yell.

His attempts are doing nothing. The lion looks as if he can't even feel the vicious blade – and that's when I realise the metal is bouncing off the lion's fur. In the sunlight streaming down through the trees – which now seems practically blinding – I can see the fur shining _gold._

"Braeden!" I yell again, but he's too distracted trying not to get killed. He shouts in pain as the lion whirls round and catches him on the leg. The lion's fang barely brushes the skin, but it splits easily and blood starts to trickle down Braeden's leg. He must be starting to realise that his attempts are futile. "Braeden! The lion's fur! It's impervious!"

Braeden spares a moment to look confused. "What the hell does that mean?"

"You can't hurt it with the sword! _Nothing _is going to get through that fur!"

He finally seems to understand – and just in time, because the lion is advancing again. Roaring in what seems like annoyance, of all things, he throws his body on top of Braeden's, but Braeden dives out of the way, hitting the ground hard. I forget how to breathe for a moment as all his limbs seem to crumple in on themselves… but then he's bounded up onto two feet, and poised to attack at the lion's mouth.

The muttation, confused as to why his kill has disappeared, doesn't get up quickly enough. As soon as he catches sight of Braeden, he opens his enormous mouth to bellow at him – but before any sound can come out, Braeden darts forward and firmly wedges the sword into its mouth. The lion staggers up onto all fours, thrashing around in pain and shock – and then it falls to the floor, narrowly avoiding crushing Braeden beneath it.

We both stand in stunned silence; unsure of what to say or even if we can speak. "Are you OK?" I ask finally.

Braeden nods, trying not to show how much he's shaking as he retrieves his sword from the lion's great body. 'Yeah. Just… sick of killing things."

I bite my lip. "I know."

District 1 – Zircon Terric POV

I toss an apple from one hand to the other, taking a bite every now and then as I watch the others' activity. We've made camp near the camp – easy access to the other tributes, and easy access to the Cornucopia. I'm not about to admit it, but Aveira's decision to stay here is the same one I would have made.

"Hey, did you guys see that?"

I glance at Melody, her face puzzled and staring straight through the trees, and everyone else pauses in what they're doing.

"No, we didn't – the Easter Bunny doesn't actually exist, Melody," Mellish says, and Melody shoots him a filthy look.

"Don't be nasty, Mellish," Aveira sighs irritably, turning to Melody with a sweet smile. "What did you see, honey?"

Melody looks from Aveira to Mellish, slightly confused. I can see why. We'd all thought Mellish and Aveira were together – the idiots – but Aveira is being nicer and nicer to Melody while being shorter and more patronising with Mellish. When she made him stay behind yesterday, and we killed the girl, I could tell he wasn't happy with that at all. _Try __walking __a __mile __in __my __shoes, __Mellish, _I'd thought bitterly – not that I fantasised about several different ways of overthrowing Aveira from her little throne, or ways she could die.

Really, though, she's an inconvenience to me. And I refuse to take orders from her, up there on her high horse.

"I'm not sure exactly. But it was like a huge dark mass. An animal, maybe. It was only in the distance…" Melody trails off, unsure as we're all staring at her.

"That's very helpful, thank you," Aveira says, making a funny face like she's trying to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. Melody needs to feel like a useful part of the group, otherwise she could just run off and tattle to anybody. Reluctantly, I admit that Aveira being nice to Melody is another good tactic.

"A muttation?" I suggest.

"Possibly," Aveira nods. "Think we should go take care of it? In case it heads for us and destroys camp?"

"Aveira. It was headed in the other direction. Towards _other __tributes. _It'll take them out for us, we don't need to tempt it to eat us instead." I roll my eyes. Not such a clever leader now, are you?

"Besides, I'm not killing anything fluffy," Titan says firmly.

We all stare at him.

"Anyway," Aveira starts, after an awkward silence, "we should go out again this afternoon. Get a layout of the arena; see if we can coax a few more kids out of hiding. There's got to be a few that haven't gone far."

This is when I decide to speak up, looking Aveira straight in the eyes. "Actually, I think we should go back to the Cornucopia and get the rest of the supplies."

She smiles that annoying smile. Is this how much it annoys people when I smile all the time? "I think that can wait until later."

"And what if someone gets there before we do?" I ask, standing up. "I'm sure Melody and Mellish aren't the only ones who can swim in this arena."

"I'm the leader. And what I say is what we do. _All _of us." Aveira looks coldly at me, daring me to go on. Challenge accepted.

"And this is what I think. It's just an idea," I say calmly. The others have fallen silent, so I turn to them. "Who's in favour of my idea?"

"Zircon!" Aveira exclaims sharply, glancing at the others before striding up to me and hissing, "Back off now. I call the shots around here. You got that?"

"Sure thing," I say, and it's my turn to smile infuriatingly at her. Her face heats up. "But I hope the fall isn't too far when they get bored of you… or you make the worst decision of your life, O' Great Leader."

She smirks at me. "That time won't come. You wanted to be leader, huh? Should've got in there quicker. Give it up, Zircon. We can be… friends. But don't think I've ever stopped watching you."

"Maybe you want to spend less time watching my back and more time watching your own," I whisper, prodding the tip of the knife I slipped out of my pocket into her stomach. Aveira's eyes go wide, and she barely suppresses a gasp. I raise an eyebrow, and loudly say, "Something wrong?"

"No. Everything's perfect." Stepping quickly back from me, Aveira avoids my eyes and marches back to oversee whatever Titan is doing. I sneer at her retreating back, tapping the knife against my thigh patiently.

I've got her.

District 7 – Katriel Keen POV

"Katriel, can we just stay here?"

Alondra is lying on her back, just inside the shade. We've stayed on the beach and found a cave, tucked into a part of the beach that curves inwards and hidden from where we think the Career camp must be. Last night, we saw a light trailing through the forest, and it switched off not that far away. The Careers must have a flashlight. Lucky them.

"Because I think this is nice. Just us two, being here, with no scary killers around. And we've got food, right?"

On the swim to shore from the Cornucopia island, I accidentally dropped the loaf of bread in the water and didn't realise until it was too late to turn back and get it. We were struggling enough as it was, having to use the backpack to help stay afloat. It was a miracle we made it, but here we are, tucked away in our little cave away from everybody else. And we'd discovered the fruit here wasn't poisonous. Or at least, I didn't think it was. It was a nice, soft yellow colour, with the appearance of a lemon and the taste of a grapefruit. You didn't usually associate soft colours with poison.

"Do you want one?" Alondra holds one up, ready to throw it to me. There's a whole line of bushes full of the fruit out there, and we collected as much as we could carry before taking shelter inside the cave. It's a good idea to keep out of sight as much as possible. If one of the Careers wandered out onto the beach at their side, they could just glance over and see us.

"No, I'm not hungry," I tell her, but smile anyway.

"You know what I think is good about this place?"

And she's off into another long rant about why we should stay here for the remainder of the Games. I know why. She doesn't want to face any of the other tributes – especially Zircon Terric, after what he did to Milton. I feel horrible about what happened to Milton – I can't get the picture of his face as he realised he was about to die out of my mind. I want to paint it, draw it, anything to get it out of my memory and onto something else. Because then it's only your problem if you look at the picture of it, isn't it?

We will have to face the others soon, though. I'm not stupid. Either they'll find us, or the Gamemakers will force us together. But at the moment, Alondra wants to believe that that isn't going to happen, so I don't want to burst her bubble and upset her. I know how that feels.

"Hey, Katriel, do you have a token?"

Leaning back on her elbows, Alondra looks at me expectantly.

"Um – maybe."

"Can I see it?"

"… No, I don't think so. Sorry."

"Come on, I'll show you mine first. Look." She holds up her wrist, and a bracelet slips further down her arm. "It's just a ratty thing, made out of straw and grass. I can't believe it's lasted all these years, actually. But I made it when I was six, so…"

"It's nice," I say truthfully. Nicer than mine, anyway. Mine is a bit of a joke, but I couldn't resist bringing it.

"So… can I see yours now?" Alondra prompts.

"I… alright." Reaching into a pouch my stylist tied onto my tribute outfit at the last moment, I pull my token out. Alondra's eyes nearly pop out of her skull.

"Is that a –" she squeaks.

"Yeah," I say, going a bit red. "It's a dead bee."

The little creature lies limply in my hand. It's a very, very, dead bee.

"I just – _why?__"_

"Um, me and my brother Isaac found it when we were little. Really little, so we weren't worried about it being dead. I've had it for years, just sitting on my windowsill, and I forgot about it until last year. I don't why I brought it. I just… something told me to," I shrug, watching Alondra's weird expression. "It's called Balthazar," I add unnecessarily.

I get a bit nervous when Alondra just continues to stare – then she breaks out into a smile. "You're really something else, Katriel, you know that?"

"Uh, thanks. I think." Alondra just beams at me. Then –

"Can I hold the bee?"

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><p><strong>AN: Anyone else want to guess as to who died last chapter? And the theme of the arena. The one person that guessed last chapter was so close. Like,<em> thisclose<em>. Surely the lion gives it away.**

**Please review. :3**


	12. More Alive Than Ever

**AN: It's late, sorry, haven't been feeling great. But here we are, with a shorter chapter than usual (I think) but hopefully still enjoyable. o.O**

**By the way, if you've changed your name in the shamefully long time I was away, could you please inform me? I'm slightly confused as to who's who. :3**

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><p><span>District 9 – Birch Laurel POV<span>

"I thought Lennox had a backpack with her?" Jay grumbled, digging his crutches into the ground to pull himself forwards. "I swear I saw her with one at the bloodbath…"

"Maybe she lost it when she was running," I shrug, batting a few massive leaves out of our way.

"She could have held onto it for us. I mean, gee, Lennox, thanks for the water skin. Is it edible? No. Do we have any water to put in it? No. Can it protect us? No."

I frown at Jay's steadily worsening mood. Last night, it had been me down in the dumps and miserable. But it wasn't even Lennox's death that snapped me out of it. It was – well, let's just say that something did. Something that triggered the guilt inside me, and reminded me who I had a responsibility to: Jay. However I could help him, anyway. I'm not sure exactly how I can help him, but he comes before me.

"Jay, Lennox is dead. Just…" I try to say softly, but wince when he glares at me.

"Just show some respect? Birch, who the hell has ever showed _us _any respect?"

"Jay – come on, please –" But I've never been very good at confrontation, or controlling people. I'm not sure how to get him to… shut up, basically. He hasn't stopped moaning all day, and now it's getting out of hand. I'm worried about what the Capitol will do if he says anything to offend them. He's right, of course – everybody back in the Districts must know he's right – but he's also wrong to be saying this aloud.

"It's just unfair! It's all so unfair! What did we ever do to deserve such a lousy life and a crappy chance in the Games and a… a stupid water skin?"

He's drunk on lack of sleep and the trauma of watching Lennox die. I hate seeing him this worked up. Jay is making angry gestures with one arm at a time – quite a feat with his crutches – but he stops almost as soon as I put my hand on his shoulder. "I don't like it either. But we're stuck with this life, we're stuck in the Games, and we're stuck with this water skin." I hold up the accused item and wave it around pathetically. Jay cracks a smile. "Let's just… keep going, yeah? Shout if you see any hint of water."

He nods, resigned, and resumes his… hopping along. It's slow going, especially in the rising heat of the afternoon. Feeling sorry for him, I ask, "Do you want me to carry you?"

"No way. Never again, Birch," Jay says firmly, his face mortified. "Yesterday was a one-off. OK?"

I shrug. We carry on in silence.

"You know, I heard that a human can only last three days without water before they drop down dead."

Oh God.

After about another hour, something oddly colourful through the trees catches my eyes. Could we finally be reaching the end of this endless forest?

"You know, Birch, I'm not entirely sure this is a rainforest. It hasn't rained once, I kind of thought that was the point of –"

"Jay, look."

He falls silent, planting himself into the ground as I advance. Peeking cautiously through the trees – and really wishing we had another ally who was braver than me and could actually be stealthy – I pick my way over a few bushes and crouch down to get a better view.

What I thought might be the end of the forest is just that. At least, I can't see anymore forest on the other side of this clearing, but I could be wrong. In any case, this new place is… beautiful. Filled with exotic plants, and ponds, and tall trees nothing like those in the forest. The steady trickle of a river flows through the middle of the garden – _water _- and what's even better is that the various shrubberies are _full _of different fruits. Whether or not they might be poisonous isn't even a main concern right now.

"Birch? What is it? What's there?"

"It's… it's amazing, Jay. It's like… a garden."

"Um. Pretty. I suppose."

"With water and fruit."

"Oh, I'm there!"

He hobbles forward at a speed I didn't think was possible and joins me. We're about to step into the garden, when something else catches my attention. "Um… still sure you want to go in now?"

"Wha-" Jay follows my gaze, and he audibly gulps. "Oh. Wow. Is that thing asleep?"

"Looks like it."

"Well, the Gamemakers have really outdone themselves this year. A freaking _dragon_? Really?"

I sigh, keeping an eye on the deep green dragon curled around the thickest tree on top of the hill. "Yes, really. Now will you keep your voice down? We don't want to wake it up."

The dragon twitches, and I can't help whimpering slightly at the rumble the tiny movement sends through his massive body. Just one of its scales looks as big as my hand, and its three tails are all at least twice the size of its great body. Though its eyes are closed and it's clearly sleeping, it doesn't take a genius to guess it wouldn't take kindly to being disturbed.

I glance at Jay, who nods. We don't have much of a choice. Even if we just gather some food and water up and leave as quickly as possible, that would be something. And so without a word, we get up and creep into the garden, feeling like small children sneaking up to steal from the sparse meat stall in the marketplace, or the 'Hob' as Jay calls it.

"Ugh, I can smell its breath from here. What does that thing eat? Probably humans, like us. Cripples, most likely. What if it's the fruit? What if it has horrible side effects? What if it –"

"Jay, _shut __up_!"

District 11 – Ruse Carnegie POV

I feel like I have the worst hangover ever.

My head is fuzzy and kind of messed up, not really working properly as far as I'm concerned. Every part of me aches like crazy, and even not moving I can tell I'm stiff and creaky, like some ancient door that's not been touched for decades. All except for what must be my stomach, which feels completely numb. I don't want to raise my hand to see if it's actually still there at all. I'm scared of what I'll find.

Am I even still alive? Maybe I'm dead. In Heaven, or somewhere. Not that I believe in such a place – the Capitol killed all thoughts and belief in faith long ago. Though of course if there is a Hell, President Snow is going straight there when he kicks the bucket. One way ticket all the way down.

If I'm dead, am I doomed to be thinking about this for all eternity? I wonder if people can get bored with themselves. See, I never have done before. I'm charming and intelligent with dashing good looks, and I'm damn hilarious. Who could get bored with me? Not me.

But really, if all I have for the rest of… um, forever, is my own thoughts, it might start to get on my nerves. I've already become arrogant and egotistical. Now I'm talking to myself in my own head like there's a second person here, and probably sound like that crazy dude in District 11 who tries to sell goats' private parts off as dream catchers and good luck charms. Next I'll become so lonely I'll start wishing I had someone, _anyone, _here to talk to, about anything. I might even get desperate enough to want to talk to my vampire-like stylist, Deyna, about her niece's recent graduation from prestigious Capitol university, earning a degree in the art of designing whiskers or something – and I'm not in any hurry to see those teeth again.

Then I'll become depressed, which just isn't something anybody wants to see, because a depressed Ruse is not Ruse at all. I don't do depressed. It doesn't really matter, nobody will be around anyway – hence the 'lonely' part – but I'll be here, and I'll be depressed to see myself getting depressed. That doesn't make any sense, which will be the next part. I'll become clinically insane. No, just insane, because I don't know what clinically insane means. I'm not in a clinic. I'm on my own. _All __by __myself__… _

Oh, God, I've already reached the final stage. What am I going to do? Being dead isn't as fun as I thought it was going to be when I was seven. Ugh, that was a dark age for me. I was so fascinated with death and the afterlife, I actually tried to kill myself a few times just to see what dying was like and if my old pet snail would be waiting for me like he promised he would in his snail language…

Everything hurts so bad. I can't be dead. Being dead isn't this painful.

"Ruse? Lu, he's waking up! Lu!"

Is Tristan dead too? And who on earth is Lu?

Maybe Tristan has a dead pet snail, too…

"Ruse?" It's a female voice this time, and suddenly I'm remembering who Lu is. Short dark hair. Bit of an attitude. Dumped a plate of food over Tristan's head. Good times. I'm glad I'm not dead after all. "Can you hear me? Can you move?"

No, sorry Lu, not really capable of that right now. I'm still recovering from thinking that I was dead.

"Tristan, are you sure you felt him move?"

"Yeah! His head twitched. I think."

Tristan, Ruse Carnegie never was and never will be, a head twitcher. Why couldn't I have been normal and moved my finger or something?

"Maybe you're dehydrated. Take a break, Tristan, I'll stay with Ruse for a bit. Sun's going down, maybe you could go look for water."

"I – fine."

If I could have laughed, I would have. But it feels like that would hurt, so I don't.

Oh, God, I'm so thirsty. My throat feels like a baked desert. I would feel hungry too, I suppose, but the thought of eating anything makes my stomach churn – which can't be good for it, as it feels like my stomach isn't even there. Lu falls silent as soon as Tristan's footsteps fade, but I can hear her moving around me, gentling shifting my position slightly, pulling at something… _bandages?_

OK, phew – if there are bandages, my stomach is probably still there and hasn't become a ghost stomach. Thank God. I don't know what I would do if I couldn't eat anymore. You can't eat without a stomach, can you? Maybe the food would just drop straight out through your chest.

It's a long time before Tristan returns, something sloshing around noisily in a bottle. _Water._

"Where did you find that?" Lu asks immediately, springing up and disturbing the leaves. I try to whimper in need of the water, but it's impossible.

"There's a stream, not too far away. I remember where it is so we can get more, and I drank a whole bottle myself before I filled this is up so this is just for you two."

"Ruse first, then. Give me the bottle," Lu demands, and I can feel her breath on my face as she crouches beside me again. "Open up, sleepyhead."

Easing my mouth open, Lu puts the bottle to my cracked lips and, painfully slowly, pours water onto my tongue, manoeuvring my head so that I swallow. _Finally_. It tastes like all my birthdays come at once, bliss one hundred times over.

As soon as I've had my last gulp, I can feel myself slipping away. Letting exhaustion overwhelm me, I sink readily into the darkness as Lu and Tristan start murmuring to each other.

Anything to get away from their (as in, Tristan's) flirting.

District 11 – Laurath Cavernson POV

"Oh, damn it. Damn it, damn it, damn it!"

I rub furiously at my hand for the millionth time in frustration. I've also rubbed it with various leaves and plants in hopes of a reaction, because back in District 11, there's usually a plant that'll help if we get infected by another plant. Overnight, the itch I'd yesterday thought was completely harmless has swelled into something much bigger. The palm of my hand is bright red, blotchy and covered in pink spots. The skin is raised like there's a lump underneath the infection, and it's slowly spreading to cover the rest of my hand.

I'm horrified, and my whole day so far has consisted of trying to find something to counteract whatever has happened to my hand. But I've found nothing that will work – it's only been getting worse. It'll cover my hand completely soon… what then? Will it spread down my arm? What if my _limbs_start dropping off? Hell, I've no idea what even caused it. Something must have bit me, or I brushed my hand against something I shouldn't have. Or someone managed to get me with a poison dart, but that's some pretty wacky poison.

I haven't strayed far from the city I found yesterday, but it's out of sight. I don't know what I'm looking for… water? Food? A magic doctor to take the nasty infection away?

Yeah, right. Keep dreaming, Laurath.

"Ugh. This _sucks!__" _I complain, throwing my arms up in the air – before realising anybody could be around and hear me. Ah, let them come. I could use a little exercise. A little something to take my mind off this stupid infection.

The thought had barely crossed my mind when I hear low voices. Well, one low voice. _Well, __as __luck __would __have __it__…_

Stepping lighter and arming myself with two throwing knives, I listen out for the source of the voice. Somewhere to my left – got it. I keep my eyes in the trees in case they're hiding up there. The trees are thinner and further apart here – I can actually see two feet in front of my face. Crouching behind a tree trunk, I grin at the spot where I can just see two figures – one lying down, one standing. It's the one standing who is speaking, a boy, and the person lying down isn't really responding. Are they hurt? Even better.

Flitting forward silently, I'm close enough to just see their faces. Then I spot the curly red hair. It isn't…?

Ebanie Streeter. Lying down, injured. I'm lucky, indeed.

As far as I can tell, the boy – from District Five or Six, maybe – doesn't have any weapons. Oh, yes, he's the one who's always moody and never speaks. I didn't think he'd take an ally on, of all people.

He's engrossed in whatever he's saying to Ebanie. This should be a shock to the system, then, I think as I angle my arm back and throw it forwards, sending the knife flying through the air with an innocent whistling sound. It wedges itself in the ground next to Ebanie – not exactly where I wanted to land, but we'll work with what we've got.

Ebanie lets out a pathetic scream, like she hasn't even got enough energy left for that, and her body jumps at least half a foot to the side. Her ally swears and picks up a long, thick branch as he puts himself in a fighting stance, wildly looking around.

"Well, well. It's nice to see you two again." I stroll out towards them, a confident smirk on my face. Don't even ask me where the confidence came from, but it seems to have flared up overnight.

Two pairs of eyes fix onto me, one terrified and one hard. "Remember me?" I direct this towards Ebanie, an overly gleeful smile on my face as the other knife hangs harmlessly at my side. "Or more importantly – remember this?"

I hold up my arm for them to see, which is still bandaged from when Ebanie violently attacked me. Well, some people are saying it was an accident. Whatever. Believe what you want to believe, I say.

And I believe that Ebanie Streeter's time in the arena is about to come to an end.

"Laurath." Ebanie's voice is slightly shaky, and she doesn't try to stand up. That's when I notice the injury in her leg. Eurgh. It hasn't even been wrapped up or cleaned. Disgusting. But probably not the worst I'm bound to see in the Games. I haven't exactly been sheltered from it. Since I was about six, I've watched the Games religiously every year with a kind of fascination. Not the good kind – fascination that kids not much older than myself could do this to each other. Fascination that some higher power in the amazing Capitol could allow this to happen. Fascination that others could find it entertaining. Acceptable.

And now I'm here, and it feels like I've studied the Games so hard in past years nothing could surprise me. I've seen floods, fires, and earthquakes rip through arenas, everything from a completely dry, deserted desert to a watery world of sea life and blood stained waves. I'm not the oldest, I'm not the strongest, I'm not the smartest. I've never competed in the Games before. I've never had a family member or close friend die in the Games. I've never been trained for them.

And yet I feel like I'm so much more experienced than the two tributes cowering in front of me. I'm so much more prepared. I'm thirteen and I already feel like an old hand.

It's sad, really.

"Laurath," Ebanie says again, a little louder this time. "You know I didn't mean to do that to you. It was an accident, we both know it. Why are you so angry?"

I smile. "Oh, I'm not angry anymore. Not when I've got you right where I want you."

It's something you would expect a Career to say, not a weedy girl from District 11. But I'm not in control of my words anymore, and it's all I can do to keep my fingers steady as they grip my second throwing knife, knowing what I'm about to do. It sounds arrogant, but I know I'm not going to miss. And looking in Ebanie's eyes now, it's clear she knows too.

I cock my head towards the boy, watching us carefully. "Anything to contribute?" I ask sweetly. He sets his mouth in a grim line, raising the branch. It looks powerful, but unless he charges at me it's not going to do much because I'm back here. The beauty of throwing knives, you see.

"Good."

"Laurath, please, no, don't do this. Please, Laurath –" She's not above begging, then. Pitiful. I can't help but soften slightly, only for a second. Ebanie can't even defend herself. The thoughts of pity are joined by doubt.

_I can't really become a killer at thirteen, can I?_

'You hurt me." And the knife is soaring through the air, landing neatly in Ebanie's chest, and she's screaming with tears running down her face and blood pumping out of her chest, creating a halo of life and death and everything in between around her. Her companion forgets about me completely, rushing to Ebanie's side as her screams die down to hacking coughs, then whimpers, which cut through me more painfully and jaggedly than the shrieks, and finally there's silence. I stand there, trembling, stunned, shell-shocked – and more alive than ever.

_Yes._

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><p><strong>AN: More focus on Ebanie's death next chapter...<strong>

**Review, please? I'm not a girl of many words today.**


	13. Saved By Careers

**AN: I don't know if any of you went onto my profile, but I did advertise my Christmas hiatus there. I just didn't want to add an author's note as a chapter, because I hate it when authors do that myself. But yes, I'm back from my hiatus... with less reviewers than I've ever had before? Six reviews for last chapter. Six! Where has everyone gone? Apparently there was a party I wasn't invited to... o.O Hopefully things will pick back up again after this chapter. Please let me know how you feel in the reviews. I really do appreciate it. Thank you, and enjoy!**

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><p><span>District 2 – Titan Ashes POV<span>

I strike the flint against the blade of the sword again, repeatedly, holding it hopefully over the large pile of sticks we have. Stupid fire won't light, and I refuse to let something as small as this get the better of me.

"We're not getting any younger here, Titan!" Mellish calls.

I clench my teeth, trying again. I like to think I'm pretty relaxed about most things. One time, in training, the local madman – come on, every District must have one – came running in, screaming at the top of his lungs and waving a mace around his head. He came straight towards me, with the full intention of delivering a fatal blow to my heart. I didn't even blink as I dodged and knocked him out with one punch. It's one of the things I pride myself on – my ability to not let things affect me or my performance. Even if I can't become numb inside, I can appear unwavering on the outside. I can kill in cold blood, which should probably scare me, but hey – I'm a born Career. We pride ourselves on a lot of a strange things.

But Mellish gets to me. He gets to me more than Melody does, because Melody's a girl, and a small one at that, and I can't bring myself to think of harming her. She couldn't hurt a fly! But Mellish…

He talks almost non-stop, always about the trivial things or to make some joke or jibing comment, instead of the important things. And worst of all, he's not the bumbling idiot who's usually guilty of doing things like that. He knows how much of a nuisance he can be – but I don't think anybody else does. He could probably charm his way out of a death sentence, that one.

It's not like someone like Mellish would usually get on my nerves. Well, he would, but not as badly as this. It's all that on top of the first reason for hating him. For wanting to kill him.

A few years back, when I was fifteen, my sister Deliza was reaped for the Games. It was a bit of a shock when nobody volunteered for her – most of the time, there are volunteers. But not always. And there wasn't a volunteer for my sister. My sister, the girl who fell for any trick and would cry her eyes out whenever somebody died in the Games. My sister, who was ridiculously short and skinny for her age, but so sweet no one could help but love her. My sister, who shouldn't have had a hope in hell.

Of course, she made it to the final two anyway. She was _my sister._

The winner that year, Ferron Laskett, didn't have a choice but to kill her if he wanted to win. I understand that. But it was the way he did it, the way he ended her life. He actually grinned before sending the spear through her heart. He took delight in killing her, the tiny little girl who only turned thirteen the day she died.

As if Mellish didn't remind me enough of him, in his offhanded, not-a-care-in-the-world way, he has to be from the same District as the guy. He might know him. Could even be friends with him.

District 4 killed my little sister, the person I love more than anyone else in the world. For that, they'd better be prepared to pay.

The anthem breaks into my thoughts, blaring somewhere overhead in the night sky as the inky blackness is suddenly lit up, bathing our faces in something harsher than moonlight. We glance at each other, wondering if Lennox is going to be the only face in the sky tonight.

She isn't. Not much to anyone's surprise, the girl from District 3, with the unmistakable fiery hair, appears first.

"Think it was the muttation that killed her?" Zircon asks.

"Wouldn't put it past that Laurath girl," Melody mutters.

And next, of course, is Lennox. Zircon's lips twitch up at the sight of her, remembering his kill, and Aveira nods slightly, approvingly. This is when I feel like the opposite of a Career. I've tried, but I don't feel like celebrating when we take a life. When _I _take a life. It's simply a necessary evil, in a way.

Those are the only faces tonight.

"Seven down, seventeen to go." Aveira looks around at all of us. I know what she's thinking. What happens when we're the last ones left?

Hopefully it'll be a while before we have to deal with that, anyway.

District 6 – Alexander Nuostabus POV

Why is it that those I want to protect always end up dead?

It's becoming a curse, I'm certain of it.

Ebanie's death has convinced me I'm better off on my own. I haven't stopped walking since Laurath left after killing Ebanie. She had strode forward and pulled her knife from Ebanie's chest, appraising me with a sinister smirk as she held the bloodied tip to my neck.

"You going to fight me, bad boy?" she'd taunted, letting out a baleful peal of laughter. I'd stood my ground, saying nothing but stubbornly not ripping my eyes from hers. Eventually, she had withdrawn the knife, turned on her heel, stepped neatly over Ebanie's body and melted away into the trees as if nothing had happened at all.

I didn't wait for the helicopter to collect Ebanie's lifeless body. I didn't need to. The sudden disturbance in the treetops as the birds scattered told me it was near, and I wasn't hanging around longer than I needed to.

Darkness fell a while ago. Ebanie's face appeared in the sky a few hours earlier, along with that girl from 12. I don't remember her name. I used the booming anthem to scour the nearby area for signs of being followed without having to worry about my own noise. I didn't find anything, and it's been silent ever since.

I'm completely alone.

The mountains loom ahead of me, unclear but still impressive in my limited visibility. I can't be sure, but I've got a feeling these mountains must be as far as the arena stretches. The arena can't be _that _big, surely, and I've travelled a long way since this afternoon.

Finally, I allow myself to actually notice how hungry I am. No, not hungry – I'm starving. I haven't eaten in two days, forget about drinking. Maybe these mountains will prove fruitful, a good place to stay.

Then again, maybe not.

About an hour later, I'm ready to collapse where I'm standing. I've made it further up the mountain range, and practically drag myself to a cave hollowed out in the side of the mountain. It's as good a shelter as any, so I lay back gingerly and allow my eyes to drift closed, completely letting my guard down. I could care less about that at the moment…

My stomach growls too loudly, my parched throat screams in complaint. They won't let me sleep, no matter how much my head and drooping eyes protest. I heave myself up reluctantly, listening intently.

There's scrabbling outside in the scrubs and bushes. Venturing outside my hideout, I squint around for the source of the noise. Some kind of rodent, larger than your average rat but with the appearance of a guinea pig, perhaps, is burrowing around for food. Unfortunately for it, roles are going to be reversed pretty soon. It's exactly what I'm looking for.

Finding a large, sharp rock, I creep up on the rodent, crouched down and making sure to tread lightly. Even in my current state, I'm still aware mostly of what my body is doing.

The rodent freezes, aware of a threat behind it somewhere. I take my opportunity and fall to my knees, pinning the rodent down with my bare hands to keep it still. It squeals in protest and tries to twist round and bite me, but a few vicious bashes to the head with the rock and I'm pretty sure it's dead. If only I had a weapon, it would be much more efficient to kill, but I don't, so I'll have to manage as best I can.

With the rodent in hand, I set off in search of water, knowing that there must be water nearby for the animal to have survived until now – before I brutally smashed its head in with a rock. Sure enough, there's a stream not far from the cave, a strange sight in a landscape that looks very dry. Setting the rodent down beside me, and keeping an eye out for anything that might want to eat _me_, I waste no time in scooping up the water with my hands and glugging it down, faster and faster as I begin to once again appreciate the taste of it. What I'm doing is stupid, I know. I don't have anything to purify the water, it could have anything in it that might make me sick, but I'm so thirsty I don't care. I'd rather take that risk than almost certainly die from lack of water in a few more days.

I bathe my face and my arms. Though it's cool enough at night, I still stink and am covered in sweat. Deciding I'll come back to this stream in the morning, I head back to my cave and start to build a fire, to cook dinner on. When it's hot enough, I place the rodent over the coals. Within ten minutes, the smell is too much to resist and I tear the more or less cooked rodent open, eating what's actually edible as carefully as I can when I just want to stuff the whole thing in my mouth. It's not the best taste in the world, but it's heaven to me, and the thing is finished within minutes, now literally a pile of skin and bones beside me. I'm not sure if the smell will attract any other animals out there, but I'll take the chance.

Settling down next to the fire for warmth as the coldest part of the night kicks in, I let my eyes close at last. I'm not full and I'm still a bit thirsty, but I'm satisfied for now.

Now I just want to sleep.

District 7 – Alondra Abella POV

The attack comes at the dawn of the third day.

No, that makes it sound like some kind of military attack. I suppose if it's the Careers, it's not far off, but I doubt it – even idiotically proud Careers are smart enough to keep quiet when they're sneaking up on people. This thing that's eyeing us up isn't quiet. In fact, it sounds like it's trying to make as much as noise as possible. Well, up yours, Big Attacking Thing Waking Me Up Early, we're not going to be scared off that –

Shit.

I don't usually swear – well, OK, I do – but now I really feel the need to. I've ventured out of our little cave type place on the beach – Katriel is dead to the world – to try and locate whatever it is, and what I've just seen nearly sends me sprawling to the ground on my butt at just the sight of it. Fine, it _does_ send me sprawling to the ground on my butt at just the sight of it. Over the greenery – you know, for the Hunger Games, this is actually a pretty nice place to look at in terms of an arena, though it's probably a better deal for the tourists who look around after the Games than for us – some kind of animal has appeared, beady black eyes set into a scaled, murky brown coloured head.

_Shit, shit, shit, _I think, as I run inside to shake Katriel awake. He stirs eventually, eyes blinking sleepily.

"What is it?"

"Big monster. Probably wants to eat us. Probably going to die soon. Come look, it's a wonderful sight!" I finish sarcastically, frustrated he won't get up fast enough.

I all but drag him outside, as he blearily rubs sleep out of his eyes. "Look!"

It would be hard to miss, but I feel the need to point him towards it anyway. The monster – muttation – has now emerged completely from the trees. It's twice the size of me, and a lot longer and wider – well, of course it is, you can't exactly get fat on the famous Hunger Games diet.

Oh, and it's got three heads in total.

"Brilliant," I mutter. "Well, it's been a good life. Considering."

"Oh, look at that," Katriel says vaguely, smiling slightly at the muttation.

"Yes, it's about to eat us! So we need to –"

"We don't know that. It might not want to eat us."

I stare at him in disbelief. Is he actually taken with this – _thing? _"I'd rather not take that chance, Katriel. Now come on, or I swear I will leave you."

I wouldn't, of course, even if I had to throw him over my shoulder to bring him with me.

"OK," Katriel says reluctantly, backing away. But then the muttation lets out a high-pitched wail, freezing us both where we stand. The sound rips right through me, honestly petrifying me to the point where I can't move.

"We need to go," I say again with determination. But I can't seem to be able to make my feet move.

Eventually, my arms respond to my common sense. I wave them around maniacally, yelling at the top of my lungs. "Get _out_! Get _away_!" I shriek, among other intelligible sounds.

"Don't scare it!" Katriel begs.

I don't even dignify that with an answer. It's not working anyway – the beast acts as if it can't even hear or see me. I'm nothing to it. I can't do anything.

It lurches towards us again. Ugh, its breath _stinks. _It's almost poisonous in its stench, and I instinctively cover my mouth and nose with my arm. Katriel is staring at it in something like wonder. Having a dead bee as a token should have alarmed me that something like this might happen.

Throwing all three of its heads back, it lets out another wail and staggers forward, it massive body looking terrifying but oddly clumsy at the same time, rocking on the too-small feet. It looks like a cross between a snake and a dragon, the rising sun behind it making it look as if it's glowing, bathed in golden light. This doesn't help with Katriel's apparent infatuation as the muttation decides it's done enough waiting around and one head shoots forward, surprisingly quick, and the mouth snaps at us.

I scream as I flatten myself on the ground just in time, feeling the rush of air as the head swings right above me. Immediately, I spring back up as the other two heads screech and reach out for us, one head for me and one head for Katriel, who won't snap out of his bloody daydream. I have to throw myself onto his back, taking us both down at exactly the right time as, once again, the heads narrowly miss us. The muttation hisses in anger, and all three heads shoot towards us. I roll both myself and Katriel to the side, pulling him up and dragging him with me as we dodge all three heads, which weave between each other in an attempt to get to us.

Katriel snaps back to his senses long enough so that we can split up, doubling the work for the muttation. We run and dodge and duck and jump, over and under and around the heads that snap at us every time they get close, letting out some of that foul breath each time. I make sure to keep my arm over my mouth and nose – actually, I'm pretty proud that I don't lose my balance while doing that. Usually I lose my balance standing on one leg for two seconds.

At one point, Katriel and I meet up again in the middle and one of the heads is careering towards us, mouth open in anticipation. Not even thinking, I shove Katriel roughly to the side, where he lands painfully on the sand – leaving just me for the muttation to get its hands on.

I close my eyes, prepared for my end, prepared for the jaws to engulf me and mash me into little tiny pieces –

But that never happens.

Suddenly, the muttation lets out another shriek and I open my eyes. Only two heads are waving around now, wailing in pain. There's a headless stump on the creature's body, and that's when I notice the massive head that was about to kill me lying on the sand in front of me, cut cleanly off.

And the two people who stand next to it.

Two of the Careers, of all people, are whom I have to thank for my life. Zircon and the District 4 girl – Melody – are there, looking vaguely pleased with themselves. Well, Melody looks pleased with herself. Zircon looks as if it's all in a day's work.

"You just – completely – how did you –"

"Yeah, you looked like you needed some help," Zircon interrupts my spluttering, swinging the bloodied sword.

At first, I think the muttation must be retreating to lick its wounds – but then I realise that something's growing where the headless stump was. The other heads almost seem to grin as not one, but two more heads grow where the previous one was cut off.

"Oh, so that's what happens. That's clever!" Katriel pipes up.

Zircon stares at him. "That's not clever, you complete idiot, that's what's going to kill us!"

Before we have time to react, the beast is lurching towards us again, four-headed and even more powerful. Zircon and Melody automatically cover their faces with their free arms. They've caught the whiff of that thing's breath, then.

We only just manage to duck in time. "We can't cut off its heads, it only grows more each time!" Melody yells, scurrying out of the way as one of the heads slams down onto the sand.

"What do we do then?"

"I don't – _move!" _We react to Zircon's command without thinking, as all four heads slam down at once, obviously targeting each one of us.

Something clicks inside my head. "Fire!" I shout. "At our camp! If we burn it –"

Melody and Katriel shoot me odd looks, but Zircon seems to be on the same lines as me. "I'll go!"

And he's off, zipping between the heads and into the cave, where our fire isn't exactly going strong but it's still there. A minute later, when we've all managed to scramble behind the muttation out of sight, Zircon emerges again, with a piece of firewood aflame in his hand. "Melody!"

She nods, and is at his side in an instant. I know what they're going to do, as Zircon explains it to her. Eyes widening, she doesn't refuse but sets her mouth in grim determination.

Taking an almighty swing with the sword Zircon gave to her, Melody cuts the first head off surprisingly neatly as it comes towards her. Zircon is there immediately, scorching the headless stump with the fire. As the beast flails around in confusion, we watch desperately for any sign of more heads.

Nothing happens.

The celebration is short-lived, however, when the beast seems to realise something's wrong and lumbers around to face us.

"Where's the fire?" I scream at Zircon.

"It's gone out – I didn't think it would – but the fire's dead now! I only just managed to light this one up!" he yells back.

So we're dead, basically.

Suddenly, the muttation stops in its murderous rampage. We follow its three remaining heads to the line of the forest far beyond, where a quiet, curious doe is gazing at us with wide, brown eyes. It looks normal enough – but then it seems to sense the danger, and takes off faster than a bullet train. So fast it's a blur, certainly too fast for any human weapon to catch. Maybe not so normal after all, but the muttation forgets about us completely and goes after it. I almost feel sorry for the poor doe – but it's leading the muttation away from us, I realise, and with that abnormal speed it probably won't be caught.

"We just got saved by a _deer_?" Zircon pants, wiping his forehead as we all watch the muttation lumber off.

"I don't know, I think it was a pretty special deer," Melody says with a small smile.

Then I remember about the person who hasn't said anything in a long time. Too long. Turning round, I'm more than a little shocked to find Katriel slumped on the ground.

"Katriel?"

I kneel by his side, frowning in worry. He's still breathing, but barely.

"What happened? The monster didn't touch any of us in the end –"

I cut Melody off, realisation setting in. "He didn't cover his mouth and nose like the rest of us. That thing's breath, it didn't just smell poisonous… it really was poisonous. And Katriel's taken the full brunt of it."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: It's late here and I'm weirdly tired and probably haven't gone over this properly, so please point out any mistakes that you see. I think that was the longest POV I've ever written, Alondra's there. <strong>

**And yes - I forgot to confirm this last chapter, didn't I? But the arena is based on Greek mythology/Ancient Greece, and Lusa and Braeden battled the Nemean Lion. Obviously I was suffering from Percy Jackson fever when I had this idea in the summer. **

**Again, please review, it means so much!**


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